


Things We Lost in the Fire

by IsThereARealLife



Series: Fire and the Flood [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Universe - Criminals, Alternative Universe - Human, Angry Sex, Angst, Arson, Biphobia, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blood, Bottom Dean, Crime, Criminal Castiel, Criminal Dean, DCBB 2015, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gore, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, Hospitals, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John sucks in case y'all didnt get the sarcasm there, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Nightmares, Slow Build, Starvation, Top Cas, Torture, Violence, bed sharing, criminals, deancasbigbang, ememies to friends to lovers, god i am trash im sorry guys (not really), sex then love, situation forced bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsThereARealLife/pseuds/IsThereARealLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hunter and the Angel are nemeses in the criminal underbelly of LA, until they are forced to work together on a job, and they must learn to work with each other, to put aside their differences and get the job done. Little do either of them suspect what 'getting the job' done might involve... what it might cost them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow i can't believe it's finally done! this started out as a little idea for angry porn and then just grew and grew in a week of almost sleepless nights until i decided to use it for the DCBB.
> 
> shout out to my awesome artist [im-the-deanwinchester](http://www.im-the-deanwinchester.tumblr.com/) who pinch hit for me. art found [here](http://www.parker-rosen.tumblr.com/post/133957268706/things-we-lost-in-the-fire-written-by)
> 
> also eternal thanks must got to [ishita](http://www.akadefenders.tumblr.com) and [alex](http://www.there-be-monsters-here.tumblr.com) for betaing and encouraging me and talking me through it when i got super stressed. you guys are the best
> 
> anyway, onwards and upwards. hope yall enjoy!
> 
> *work title from the Bastille song; series title from the Vance Joy song
> 
> NOTE: i will put warnings at the start of the chapters with the torture, and porn, with lines to skip to if people dont want to read that stuff. just so you know :)

Dean flicks on the TV. The old box crackles and flickers before finally settling on the last channel he had on: the news. And yep, just as he expected. He is only able to tune in now because he is home earlier than he should have been, and the reason is right there. Through the static and shitty sound is a blurry picture of the back of someone’s head. And the same description they always use: tall, well-built male. Dark hair. Mid-late twenties. Possibly armed. Dangerous.

Dean sighs. That son of a bitch is a pain in his ass.

At least 70% of Dean’s jobs over the last year have overlapped with The Hunter’s, both the paid ones and the unpaid. It’s become a competition between them. An infuriating, but also sometimes incredibly satisfying, competition to see who can get there first, who can pull the biggest haul without being caught, who can cause the most mayhem with the least amount of work.

And dammit this was meant to be a paid one. He’s gonna have to eat ramen and mac ‘n’ cheese for the next week if he’s going to make Sam’s rent. He tells Dean he doesn’t need the help but Dean knows he’s lying. Dean’s never been sure if it’s Sam’s pride that’s saying it, or his desire to cut himself off from Dean, to be free of ‘all our family crap’, as he so eloquently puts it when it inevitably comes up over the phone. Dean suspects it’s the latter.

But screw him. He’s family, and Dean is gonna help take care of him whether Sam wants it or not.

Dean groans and shuts off the TV. He got to the office building last night and found The Hunter’s signature waiting there, taunting him. It is always the same pattern – the constellation of Orion. Sometimes he makes it from pens, or leaves particular lights on. Once, there were a bunch of sticky notes stuck on an office door, with ‘Better luck next time, Angel’. This time, someone in the building had an obsession with angels apparently, as in the middle of the hallway by the door was a collection of angel figurines laid out meticulously in the usual pattern.

That’s not to say that Dean isn’t a pain in the ass to The Hunter as often as he can be. Whenever he beat him to a job, he’ll leave a little angel right where the target was meant to be. Sometimes a little statue, or an origami thing, or a picture of one of those dumb cupids. Once he tied it to the fan above the CEO’s desk and turned it on. Man, Dean would’ve loved to have seen the guy’s face when he walked in on that.

Dean chuckles to himself. The memory of the stupid plushie whooshing around still gets him every time. 

He wanders into the kitchen for some breakfast. There’s still a bit of cereal left in the box and the milk in the fridge door hasn’t passed its use-by date… yet. It’ll do. He’ll stock up on more food later when he goes out. Meanwhile, he pointedly avoids looking at his phone, knowing the disappointed text message that will be blinking across the screen. Something about ‘let him get the better of you again and we’ll have to intervene’ or ‘things are getting out of hand’ or the one he dreads most will come sometime soon, ‘this is the final straw, we won’t be requiring your services again.’ That one; that is the one he fears most. The jobs from these guys are the only things he gets paid for. If they go away, he’ll have nothing. Nothing to send to Sam, and nothing for himself to live on. He can deal with being on the streets, he’s done it plenty in the past. But Sam… he can’t let that happen. He needs to take this damn Hunter guy down. At least put him out of action for a month or so. Let Dean get his foot back in the door.

He won’t check his phone until he knows for sure that he can’t complete the job. Until he knows if the files have already been sold on. Maybe he can still redeem himself, on this at least.

Dean takes a shower and tries to wash away the simmering pissed-off-ness he’s been harbouring since his failed heist at around 2 am this morning. It doesn’t really work but he tells himself it does as he pulls on some worn jeans and boots and an old flannel. He stuffs his phone and wallet into his pocket and snatches his keys off the table and makes his way down the three flights of stairs of his shitty apartment building into the basement car-park. He hates leaving his baby here where she can get scratched by any other jerk who lives here, but he really doesn’t have another choice.

It’s chilly out. He probably should’ve brought a jacket or something. But like hell is he going back up those stairs. Anyone would need at least half an hour to recover from the urine-and-asbestos smell that permeates the entire stairwell. Yeah, he’ll just make do in the cold.

 

He walks over to the dodgy parts of town, places like Skid Row, where the dudes who live in the back alleys know more than anyone would think they even could, and who Dean almost trusts enough to give his name. He doesn’t, but almost. He doesn’t trust anyone that much. Only family gets to know that about him.

Dean finds his usual few guys in one of their frequented alley. “Hey boys, how’s things?”

“Smith! Haven’t seen you ‘round here in a while.”

“Yeah, been busy,” he replies.

The guys nod in understanding. “So what can we do you for today?” Rudy asks.

“Any new info on our fiery friend?”

“Nah, sorry Smith, haven’t heard anything. They’ve all gone quiet since that safe house got taken out in North Hills.”

Dean nods, disappointed as usual, but not surprised. Okay, next order of business. “What about those papers from Sandover that The Hunter took off with last night?” 

Roy butts in now. “Oh yeah, I heard about that. Sorry dude, Hunter already turned them over. You should know how he does, man. You come down here every day after he pulls something and every time he’s already made the exchange. He gets in early, he does. Why you always askin’, anyways?”

Dean smiles and waves. “Thanks for the help guys,” he says evasively.

“Y’know a guy called Milton comes down here asking stuff like you sometimes,” one of them says suddenly. Dean pauses mid-stride.

“What, Milton like off The Walking Dead?” someone else asks. Ok, so not a useful lead at all. Just homeless people speculation and conspiracies.

“Dunno man. He’s weird though. Awkward. Like he doesn’t know how to relax.”

“My third grade English teacher was Mr Milton. He smelled funny. I didn’t like him,” another one pipes up. The voices fade off as he walks away.

 

Well that was a bust. Ugh, time to face the music then. He drives a few streets over and pulls up in front of the Roadhouse. He’s gonna need booze, he thinks, and also cheaply. Family discounts are always a bonus. Even though he’s not technically family, Ellen considers him close enough to count. 

Even in the middle of the day, Ellen is there. Usually in the office doing paperwork, and the front door is locked. But Dean knows he can knock on the back door and she’ll let him in. She asks too many questions, which can be nerve-wracking, but it’s nice. She cares about him, and Sam. She’s been around their family a lot. Dean and Sam and Ellen’s daughter Jo all swear she and Bobby have a thing for each other. They all have bets running on how long this it’s going to take them to get together. So far it’s been fifteen years, at least since Dean and Sam have known them. Jo swears it was going on even before that.

Fifteen years since John first left them with Bobby for a few weeks while he chased down leads and failed to keep a job. Dean missed his Dad a lot then, sure. But at Bobby’s, he got to feel like a kid for a while. Sam got to be a kid for a while.

“Boy, what you doin’ here so early?” Ellen asks, standing in front of him in the door way. “You forget how to knock or somethin’?”

Huh. She must’ve seen him through the window or heard the car roll up or something. Probably the car; she’s pretty loud.

“Uh… rough night. And morning. And it’s probably about to get worse…” Dean evades.

Ellen sighs in that way some people have for particular occasions of people screwing up. “Alright then, come in boy. I’ll get you something.”

Dean smiles and she lets him past into the dimly lit hall which leads past the office and into the kitchen, through to the main room. He pulls out a stool at the bar and takes out his phone before slumping down on the seat. He smooths his thumb over the screen and buttons, still procrastinating. When Ellen slides over two fingers of whiskey, he thanks her, takes a sip, and bites the bullet.

A message is blinking there, taunting him. As usual, the contents are blocked until he unlocks his phone and opens the message.

 

Ellen comes back a few minutes later. “So?”

“Not fired. Yet…”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll be fine, Ellen. Don’t worry. They’ve got another job for me next week. As long as I don’t screw this one up, I’ll be okay.”

Her lips form a thin line of disapproval before she reaches over the bar and smacks him upside the head. “Ow!”

“Ya idjit boy,” she scolds.

Dean smirks. “Channelling Bobby, there, I see.” Perfect way to get the attention off his situation.

Ellen scowls and throws a dishrag at him.

“You watch your mouth.”

Dean just chuckles and downs the rest of his drink.

“Oh, I almost forgot… Here.” Dean pulls a wad of envelopes and flyers out of his back pocket. He grabbed the mail on his way in.

Ellen hums. “You're almost redeemed.” She grabs the stack and takes it out the back while Dean goes ‘round behind the counter to wash up his glass. He is just resting it on the draining board when he hears a soft ‘shit’ from the office.

He darts down the hall and stops in the doorway. “Ellen? What is it?”

Her head jerks up sharply, eyes wide and spooked. She glances back at the piece of stationery in her hands before looking at him and replying, “Nothing. Dean, nothing. It’s fine.

“Ellen…”

“Don’t worry, Dean. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

When she gets that tone in her voice, Dean knows to leave well enough alone. He doesn’t like to, but he will.

 

Dean spends the rest of the day at home. He’s tired. And also worried about Ellen. She’s not usually like that. It was very strange for her to react like that and not say what was up. He’s still pissed about last night too. There’s been no word on Azazel in months. It’s a good day to just sit in his apartment and watch reruns of Doctor Sexy and Star Trek.

 

He gets a call a few days later from Frank informing him of the next job.

“We got word this morning that the Hunter is going to try to get information off a hard drive in an office building in the city.”

Dean silently fist pumps. He was hoping for a fight. This will be good. He’ll get this one.

Frank continues. “We already know what’s on it, no need for data extraction. Just destroy the information before he can get to it.”

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t screw this up, Winchester. We’re giving you a chance to redeem yourself against this guy. Don’t make us regret it.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“Good. So. Word is, he’s going to hit it tomorrow night. You better beat him to it.”

“Tomorrow night?!”

“Will that be a problem, Winchester?”

Dean purses his lips. This is a pain in the ass. He doesn’t even know where the place is yet. He’ll have almost zero time to scope it out. He’ll do it. Just a little more warning would have been appreciated. There’s not enough time to get everything done and ready to be successful tonight.

“Of course not. I’ll get it done.”

“Good. Now…” and he continues to outline the rest of the crucial information. Location, security levels. All the good stuff.

When Frank finally hangs up, Dean heads straight out to the supermarket. He’s going to need some powerful batteries to make an electromagnet strong enough to wipe out a hard drive that big. He gets some iron pegs and extra wire from the nearby hardware as well, in case he doesn’t have enough at home. On his way back to where he parked his Baby, he passes a knickknacks shop that even in September is starting to stock shitty Christmas decorations. And right there in the window is an angel tree topper. It feels like a sign. And it’s the perfect size to fit his home-made contraption up the skirt. Hell yeah.

By the time he gets home, a few pieces of paper have been slipped under his door. Floor plans of the building and the room he needs to get to, outlined in red. There’s a ventilation shaft, complete with motion sensors, which runs directly overhead. It must be there to cool off all the servers. That shit gets really hot really quickly.

The offices are above a big department store complex. There’s an elevator to an employee carpark that bypasses the shops but Dean can’t get access to that in time for tomorrow. He’ll have to figure something else out.

 

He takes the bus into the city and has a wander around the shops, looking for other things that could help. And then he sees it in the corner. An outlet vent. The plans said there was motion and pressure sensors in them but if he can shut off the power…

But then there’s the issue of everyone noticing that a building has no lights on.

He supposes he’ll just have to deal with it.

He spends the rest of the day making his electromagnets, gathering his equipment and figuring out the best way to shut off the power temporarily. There’s a backup system but that takes a while to kick in.

 

By the next day, Dean is ready to go. He heads in early to rig a timer to turn off the building power, only to find that there’s already one there. Huh, so The Hunter really does have the same idea. He smirks and swaps them out. Hunter will be watching though, for the power to go. If it goes early it’ll surprise him, but he’ll react. Dean will have to move quickly, be in position already. 

He is just loitering in the grocer across the street, itching to get going, but nervous about being noticed. That’s when he sees the newspaper front page blown up in front of the newsagency. There’s a light show on tonight. Not just fireworks, electrical lighting as well. And music. And a whole butt load of other crap. That is gonna drain a lot of power and also light up the city. No one will notice if the power in one building goes off for a few minutes.

Well that solves that anxiety then.

 

It doesn’t take much, really. Once the power goes, Dean immediately gets the grate off the vent and jumps through. He’s puffing once he starts to climb, but he know he has to keep going to beat the Hunter. Thank god the server room is only two more floors up or his arms might have fallen off from exertion. 

It takes him a good minute of looking at all the drives and outlets and servers to find the one labelled ‘205’. A small smile creeps onto his face. It’s still intact. The Hunter didn’t somehow manage to sneak past and get there first.

It all feels very spy chic, with the way he has to pull out the draw and then stick the electro-angel to the top of it. He starts humming the Bond theme under his breath. Sure he could’ve cut the wires, smashed up the drive, but there are ways to recreate data, or parts of it, when damaged physically like that. This way is safer, more effective.

Dean almost wants to wait around and see if the Hunter used the same way to get into the room as well, but he’s got maybe 5 more minutes before the power kicks back on. Time to go.

He is just rounding the last corner of the last floor up when he notices some movement at the end of the tunnel. There is only one other person it could be, and he can’t resist a little gloating. “Sorry Hunter, you’re too late.” He smirks with satisfaction at the anger that takes hold of the Hunter. “Later.” He twiddles his fingers at the other man and slides on. 

The idiot keeps going up. He must be checking. Must have another escape route planned, because there’s no way he’s getting back down through the ventilation without triggering something, given the time left. 

Dean slides down the last piece of tunnel, childishly throwing his arms up and yelling ‘weee!’, and shoots out of the vent unceremoniously onto his ass just moments before the timer on his watch beeps. Mission complete. And he finally got a look at the Hunter’s face. Not very well in the dim light, but he saw him.

 

Dean rocks up at the Roadhouse sometime after nine, grabs a spare apron and goes ‘round to help Jo behind the bar. He has a relaxed swagger to the way he moves and throws more than a few confident and cheeky grins at various patrons. It’s extra busy tonight, probably something to do with the light show. They barely have time to say more than a few words to each other for the first hour that he’s there. Ellen comes out when it’s nearing ten and there’s a lull in the number of customers ordering things, and tells them both to take a break. She can handle it on her own for a while.

They slump down of opposite ends of the little couch in Ellen’s office and Dean closes his eyes for a moment. He doesn’t do these shifts that often and it’s a bit of a shock to the system.

“How’s things with you, Dean? Haven’t seen you in a while,” Jo asks after a moment.

He shrugs. “Fine. Same old, same old.” Not that she knows what ‘same old’ really is, but it is the truth. “You? How goes the college life?” She’s been there for a bit over a year now and, while she sometimes seemed like she didn’t want to be there, didn’t fit in, Dean knew her better. He knew she enjoyed it more than she would ever deliberately let on.

“It’s shit really, Dean. I gotta drop out,” she spits angrily, with a touch of sadness and resignation.

“What? Why the fuck do you have to do that?” He exclaims a little too loudly. Some patrons passing the door on the way to the bathroom turn at the noise. He smiles awkwardly and waves them off.

“They’re taking the Roadhouse away. We won’t have any money left to pay for college until we can figure something else out.” 

“Shit. That’s… that’s bullshit!” 

“Mum only told me like three days ago. Got a letter or something. Bastards didn’t even come down here to tell us in person.” Dean shakes his head in sympathy and mutual disgust. “I get to finish the semester at least, since it’s already paid for. But fuck, after that… Y’know. I was just starting to… to get some friends. I wasn’t the weird kid in the back with a knife collection anymore.” She presses her lips into a thin line and sinks further into the cushions.

 

* * * * *

 

Castiel’s thumb hovers over the little green button for several moments before he finally presses it. He hates making this call but they’ll find out sooner or later, from one source or another. Better that he be the one to inform them.

The dial tone sounds in his ear like a funeral march. He hasn’t lost failed many jobs recently, but Uriel and Zachariah can be temperamental. He hopes he catches them in a good – well, less bad – mood.

“Castiel.” Uriel’s typically curt greeting echoes down the tinny connection. “Status.”

“Fail.” Castiel can practically feel Uriel frowning down the phone line at him. He hears a shuffling and then Zachariah’s infuriating, nasal voice takes over.

“Excuse me?”

“I said ‘fail’, sir,” Castiel repeats stiffly.

He tuts annoyingly first, then says, “Castiel, this is not good enough. We needed that information.”

“I apologise, sir.”

Zachariah sighs. “Report.”

And Castiel does, as usual. There isn’t much to tell in this case though, just that someone must have been tipped off, knew when to get there and beat Castiel’s timer. He tried, and even checked the room anyway, but it was too late. He neglects to mention that he was spotted and that he caught a glimpse of his rival’s face. He neglects even to mention that it was the Angel, though they probably already know.

The moment he finishes talking, Zachariah is saying, “Okay, Castiel, thank you. Uriel has your next job for you.”

Sometimes Castiel wonders if he listens to the report at all, or if he does it solely for the purpose of pissing him off.

“Your target is Alistair Letum,” Uriel’s deep voice growls through the phone.

Castiel’s brow creases in confusion. “Alistair Letum? The accountant, businessman, running for governor next year? That Alistair?”

“Yes Castiel, do you need your ears cleaned? He is getting in the way of some major business deals we are trying to close and we need him gone. Discredit him, oust him, kill him if you must. But the priority is to destroy his credibility in _every_ sector.”

“Yes sir.” It would be easier, quicker to just kill the guy, but if he has to find enough information to take him down, well. It will be a long job. “May I ask why?”

“No you may not, Castiel,” Zachariah snaps distantly, as Uriel still has the phone. “It is not important to do your job so no, you do not get that information.”

Uriel takes over again, always calmer than the other man. “Stay hidden. You cannot risk revealing your identity. He has a high profile in this city, in public there are people watching him almost constantly. You cannot let them see your face. You will never be able to work again. If the police catch you, we are also at risk.” Something about Uriel’s tone changes at that, a threatening undertone creeps in. “You're the best we have, Castiel. In spite of your recent failings against the Angel, we need you. They already have one picture of you—”

“Yeah, the back of my head.” 

“Which they can get ample information from. Your hair colour, your approximate height and build, your skin colour, some of your dress sense. Not that you have much of that…” 

“Oh no. They know I'm a 6 foot white guy with dark hair and shoulders. This is the end. My career is over. Please accept my profuse apologies for any inconvenience this may cause to your organisation.”

“Castiel!” 

He stops. 

“That is enough insolence.” 

Castiel doesn’t dare respond. 

“You won’t be working alone,” Uriel continues.

“What are you talking about? I always work alone.”

Zachariah takes the phone back. “Not this time. It’s too big. Too much to do, too complicated, you know. This guy comes recommended by a top seller. Says he’s the best. Been working the case for years. But do not compromise the mission, Castiel. Not for anything. These men have to be taken down. Collateral damage is a small price to pay compared to the damage that will be done if they are left to reign free.”

Castiel just manages to swallow his scoff. Damage. Yeah, to Zachariah, to Uriel and their organisation. To the deals they can make. He knows how it works. “I understand. Who am I to work with?”

“A man called Dean Smith. You know him as The Angel.”

Silence. Then, “Fuck.”

“Castiel…”

“Fuck that. No. I won’t do it. That man is an abhorrence. He will only detract from my efficiency.”

“There is no room for negotiation here, Castiel. You will work with him, or else.”

He rolls his eyes. So threatening… “Fine.” Better to agree now and deal with the fallout later. There is no way in hell that he will willingly work with that godawful man. They give him Dean’s contact number and bid him good luck. Cas almost throws his phone at the wall.  



	2. Chapter 2

This is… This is complete bullshit. The Roadhouse can’t close. It can’t. Ellen will have nothing. Jo won’t be able to finish school. It’s not right. Dean has to do something about this.

He knows he’ll have at least a few days before Frank calls him again, he can do it tonight. Some place smallish. Some place with enough, though. He doesn’t do these sorts of jobs anymore except as an absolute last resort. Too public. Not shady enough. If he takes things from them, the companies talk. They don’t have anything to hide. Unlike his usual jobs, where there’s too much dirt and corruption to want any cops sniffing around. But extreme circumstances and all, he has to risk it.

Dean rummages around in the secret hideaway in the back of his wardrobe until he finds his dad’s journal tucked away in a box. He has most of the information memorised at this point, having spent countless hours reading and rereading it since he was 16 and John told him it was time he actually helped out. He swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t like to think about what prompted his dad to make him start helping at that particular point.

He flicks to the back cover, where he has his own piece of paper tucked inside. On it is a list of possible places he can hit up, places he’s done before, that aren’t overly difficult, and that give a decent haul. He’s come a long way since he was ten years old and smuggling jars of peanut butter out of grocery stores under his jacket.

Dean knows he’ll need a big shop, or an expensive one, or maybe a few, to get the amount he needs. He checks his map to compare locations but none of them are conveniently near each other, so he just picks a massive outlet for expensive jewellery in the CBD. He remembers that one fairly well and it’s been a while since the last time. It can be dangerous to hit the same place twice, but it also means that he knows the place, knows it has what he needs and it will be fast so he can get the cash to Ellen.

He pulls out his notes on that particular store to revise how to get in, and then calls his go-to seller.

“Hey Gabe, you got anyone looking at buying some things?”

There’s a weird sucking noise on the other end of the phone. Dean really hopes that was a lollypop. “What’ve you got for me?”

“Jewellery store. High end.”

“I think we can work something out. You got ‘em yet?”

“Tonight.”

“Okay, come to my Beverly Hills place tomorrow morning. I’m having a do for the Doctor Sexy cast tonight.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Gabe has never been able to restrain himself from referencing his connection to the show, ever since Dean let slip that he watches it.

“Okay, Mr They-Cancelled-My-Character-For-‘Budget’-Reasons.” He ends the call just as Gabe starts to protest.

He isn’t a friend. You don’t have friends in a job like this. But Gabe is about as close as he can get. He helped Dean out when he first got to L.A., put him in contact with Frank and a few others. He’s a complete ass, but good at his job and seems to have a soft spot for Dean, why ever that is.

 

The longest part of the job is getting from his shitty little apartment in to the city. He almost leaves an angel pendant out on the counter, but decides against it. This isn’t The Angel and it isn’t some stupid competition. This is Dean Winchester saving his family.

 

Dean sleeps with the shopping bag of jewels under his pillow for just a few our before dragging himself back up to make the trip out to Gabe’s mansion.

It’s still dark when he gets to the usual park. He’s never been to Gabe’s actual house, just nearby. Security reasons.

“I can give you 100k.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. This is worth way more than that,” Dean keeps his face neutral, just barely. Gabe always does this to make sure Dean’s genuine. Like he’s trying to figure out if Dean is actually desperate. This time it’s tough. Gabe’s never backed out before, but who’s to say when he might change tack. “Or I can take my business elsewhere.” Please don’t call his bluff please don’t call his bluff.

“Alright then. How’s 300k for an offer?”

Dean keeps quiet for just a moment, deciding. “Better. Let me see it first.”

“What, you don’t trust me, Deano?”

“No.”

Gabe keeps eye contact for a moment, for once perfectly serious. “Good. Dangerous business. That sort of mindset is what keeps you alive.”

 

Dean grabs the mail on his way into the Roadhouse that afternoon and slips his own envelope into the pile. He printed off a sheet with the address so it shows through the envelope window and wrapped it around the cheque. This way, Ellen won’t know who it’s from. He guesses that she will suspect something, but she won’t say anything. He hopes. There’s enough in there to get the bar back on its feet and get Jo through at least the next year of school. It’s the least he could do without ringing too many alarm bells with the shop or the police, and without making it difficult and dangerous for Gabe to sell off. If a sale is too big, Gabe often won’t take it for safety purposes. Or without making Ellen feel like she owes him something. She’s already done so much for him and Sam, it’s really the least he can do.

He goes around the back and remembers to knock this time, not caught up in thought like before. Ellen lets the door open just enough to point the barrel of a shotgun out. 

“Whoa, Ellen! It’s just me. Just me,” Dean exclaims.

“Dean! Jesus boy I thought… never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

Dean shrugs it off. This is a fairly usual greeting from Ellen and Bobby both. “It’s alright. Rough times. You wanna let me in?”

She uncocks the gun and lets the door open wider before disappearing straight back into her office.

“I brought your mail in. Just wanted to see if you need any help with anything. If I can do anything at all…”

“Thanks Dean,” she says as she starts flipping through the letters. “Your help really is appreciated. There’s nothing much to do right now but if you wanna help tend the bar tonight? You know I can’t pay you…”

“Of course. Anything.” Dean smiles warmly and tries to keep the smirk out of it. His envelope is next.

Her eyebrows pinch together when she sees it but she puts it off to the side with the others. Dean decides that he should maybe leave her alone for a bit so she can open the letters. He goes out to the kitchen and finds where Jo keeps her Lucky Charms. His stomach started grumbling on the way over.

“Fuck. Holy shit. Oh my—Dean! Dean, come here!” Ellen’s voice echoes through the building. 

“What? What is it?” he shouts back, putting on as much surprise as he can.

“We… it’s…” She can’t go on. She just holds up the wad of hundreds. Dean schools his face into one of total shock and spouts a few swear words himself for good measure.

“Does… does this mean you don’t need to close?”

“I…” she huffs. “Yeah. Yes. Shit, Jo can even stay in school with this.

“Wow! That’s amazing, Ellen! Really, I’m happy for you.” He smiles a genuine smile and decides it really is time to go. “I’ll let you go, Ellen, you probably have a bunch of stuff to do…”

“Yeah. And thank you, Dean.” She goes solemn on that last part. He doesn’t know if she guessed or not. So he just nods and backs out.

 

He returns later that night, though. He promised to help out at on the bar after all. Even though Ellen probably doesn’t need it anymore, a promise is a promise.

He sniffs. Something smells like gasoline. A car must’ve leaked in the lot or something. Maybe the guy’s still here and he can fix it. Might get a bit of cash out of it, hopefully.

He goes through the front door since Ellen is probably busy and also the whole place will be noisy and she might not even hear him knock. He slips through the crowds of people originally here for a last hurrah, but now celebrating the fact that their favourite night time haunt won’t be closing after all.

“Hey Dean!” Jo shouts from the other side of the restaurant, broad grin lighting up her face. 

“Hey Jo,” he smiles back. Then he makes his way out to the back to put his stuff in the office. The night is all in all fun. People are cheerful, and when they get too violent or too handsy, Ellen personally throws them out on their asses.

She yells out that it’s last call at around 1am and everyone starts to disperse not long after. When the main room is almost totally empty though, a guy staggers in, dragging a wet bag behind him along the floor. Oh lovely, it’s leaving a big mark that he’s gonna have to clean up. “Sorry man, already called last. No more drinks buddy.” The guy doesn’t appear to hear him though, just keeps staggering forward until he’s slumped against the bar. He pulls the wet bag up onto it too – and god Dean dreads finding out what is actually inside it – and his arms flail around and fuck, there goes the alcohol. He was just about to put that stuff back on the shelf, but now it’s leaking out all onto the floor. “What the fuck man? Ellen!” And all of a sudden the guy’s demeanour changes and he’s standing upright and smirking. His eyes aren’t drooping anymore and… holy fucking fuck. That is yellow. Yellow eyes, just like Dad said. “You! You son of a bitch!” Jo is over in the corner wiping down tables and looks up at the commotion.

“Dean what…”

“Ohh Dean! I was sure I knew you from somewhere. Here, take my card.” He flicks a business card onto the counter. “Call me,” the guy smirks and waves over his shoulder, leaving his bag behind. And then there is a cigarette between his lips. He’s lighting… oh no. Oh no no no. The kerosene from earlier. That was planted. That was all setting up for…

It feels like it happens in slow motion, the spark falling off the end, right onto the puddle of fuel in the doorway. Immediately it bursts into searing hot flames.

“Oh my god, Dean!” Jo screeches. And the fire is moving, following the path laid by the soaked bag. Right towards the bar, towards the… spilt liquor. The high quality liquor which has a strong tendency to explode upon contact with extreme heat. The liquor which, if lit, will explode right under where Dean is now standing. “Jo get down!” She spots the fire but doesn’t freeze. She glances over at the fire alarm, the fire alarm which also sends an alert to the local station. Which is also on the other side of the fire. “Get your mum out, I’ll get it,” Dean shouts over the crackling of burning timber. She nods and makes a break for the kitchen door, skidding slightly but knowing the exact speed to make it around without falling, having been practicing for years as a kid playing chasies.

Meanwhile, Dean launches himself over the bar and towards the alarm handle. He yanks it down just as the flames begin licking at the bar. It’s old. Wooden like the rest of the place. And the pool from where that bag has been dripping is encouraging the flames to grow higher, higher, until they light up the top of the bench and burn the rest of that up. Then the bag, still full of some kind of fuel, whooshes into a ball of fire that reaches the roof and begins burning that too. Dean starts coughing, the whole room is starting to fill up with smoke. His eyes are watering but he can just see the fire at the far side of the bar, and it’s rolling off, down, down onto the spilled alcohol.

The explosion comes a few seconds later. After the liquor catches, there is a blast of heat that singes his eyebrows. He turns his face away just as the wave blasts the glasses and shelves and bar top apart. Splinters of glass and timber fly everywhere. He can feel some pierce his skin and clatter all around him. The fire by the door is burning lower now, the timber and fuel burnt out. He can probably make it. He has to… Clutching his shirt to his mouth and trying not to breathe in too much, he staggers towards the door, trying to keep low. The rest of the room is still burning.

Outside is not much better. The kerosene he smelled earlier appears not to have just been by the door. It went the whole way around the building. Even after escaping the structure, he is still trapped.

There is still enough room to manoeuvre around the outside of the walls. He has to get to the back door. He has to find Ellen and Jo. Coughing and spluttering and flinching away whenever a flame gets too close, he stumbles around the back. Two figures are hunched on the tarmac, away from anything flammable like grass. No. No no no, one of them isn’t moving. “Jo! Ellen!” the more upright figure turns and in the flickering light, he can pick out Jo’s face. It’s tear streaked and red and covered in soot. He runs over as fast as he can manage. “Is she okay?! Jo tell me she’s okay!”

“She’s breathing. Just. There was already fire in the office. I don’t know how he did it but it was there. I got… I got Mum’s bag though. It had everything important in it. She never leaves stuff here… What do we do now?”

“Wait for the firemen, I guess,” Dean pants. The air is heavy and clogged with smoke. God he hopes they don’t take too long. 

It feels like an age but it’s probably only a few minutes of watching one of the only familiar places he ever had in his life burn in front of their eyes, helpless to stop it. Jo watches her secondary home go up in smoke. Honestly, she probably spent more time here than at their actual house…

But the big red engines arrive eventually, and start hosing everything down. The EMTs arrive soon after and haul all three of them over the damp ground to the ambulance to be checked over. Ellen has to be taken to the hospital to check properly, so they let Jo stay in the same ambulance, but take Dean to the other to have his cuts and splinters seen to, then offer him a ride to the same hospital. He declines, citing the need for a car when they get to leave. The EMT signs off on him and lets him go.

He doesn’t drive there immediately though. He goes home first, and pulls out his tracking equipment and hooks his phone up before pulling the crumpled piece of card out of his pocket and dialling the number. 

“Let me guess. It’s Dean, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. And we’re all alive you fucker. Nice try but we don’t die that easy.”

“Shame that.”

“You are one sick son of a bitch.”

“You know, you aren’t really earning yourself any brownies points here, Deano. What do you want from me?”

“What do I… I want you to hurt. I want you to burn. I want you to pay for what you have done to my family.”

The man giggles. It makes Dean feel sick to the stomach. “Oh that just tickles me right in the jollies.” Then his tone turns deadly serious. “Well, you might have saved your precious Roadhouse this time, Deano, but who’s next, I wonder? Your beloved Sammy? I hear he owes Alistair a handsome payout to keep up his… extracurricular activities.” 

The entire world screeches to a standstill. No. No, he got out. That… that’s why he still does this. It was paying him free. Paying his college. Getting him out. No. He wouldn’t. Jess wouldn’t let him either.

“I’ll see you in hell,” Dean mutters before hanging up. The light flashes on his computer screen, signalling a successful trace. And he even got the motion of whatever transport Azazel was using. He pulls up the tracking algorithm his friend Charlie designed for him and inputs the path. It comes up with a several possible destinations, which Dean quickly narrows down to a few warehouses not too far south. Perfect.

He goes to visit the hospital next, taking some spare clothes for Jo. They are actually hers, from when she’d forgotten them after a movie night or something. She’s sitting in the waiting area nursing a cup of shitty hospital coffee and staring despondently at the wall. She tells him Ellen’s in surgery, and that they’ll bring them updates when there’s something to tell. 

They must sit there for a few hours waiting and drinking an ocean’s worth of shitty coffee before a doctor comes out to talk to them. Ellen is okay, in recovery but only family can see her.

Dean urges Jo on, and says he’ll come see them the next day.

 

* * * * *

 

Dean turns the Impala down the dingy alley around 6am. The sun is rising, casting cold shadows on the ground. There’s a stoner on the corner and bags of trash dumped against abandoned doorways of run-down apartments. He pulls up behind an old white (or used to be) van, one of its tyres sitting about two metres away on the other side of the road.

This factory is the last on his possible hit list. The other three offering nothing but some rats and broken bottles. This better be it.

This could be _it_ , he realises. If Azazel is still here, Dean could end the past twenty years of pain. John’s vendetta might finally reach its end.

He creeps closer, hand on the gun in his pocket, keeping an eye out for cameras, guards, any sort of movement. When he reaches the entry, he draws the weapon and takes off the safety before shouldering his way around the rusting door.

It leads to an empty hallway, lit by a flickering bulb halfway down. All the doors that lead off it only hide empty offices, except the very end one. It leads to another hall that runs away both left and right. The left one has more doors, so Dean figures that’s a better choice.

He’s several steps along when he hears a soft shuffling sound behind him. Before he even has a chance to turn around, something heavy cracks against his head and he crumples, falling into blackness.

 

Dean comes to slowly, wincing when he registers the throbbing in the back of his skull, and the tightness of rope around his arms and legs. His eyes focus even slower in the dim room, still too bright for him. As he blinks away unconsciousness, a face swims into view. Yellow. So much yellow. Like puke. Gross.

“Hello Dean,” the face says. “Welcome to hell.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for:
> 
> very small torture scene: from the first set of "* * * * *" to "That's some shouting though"  
> 

Fucking arsehole. Can’t even pick up a damn phone. If Zachariah is making him work with the guy, couldn’t they make sure he can contact him at least? It’s been days and he still can’t get through.

He hangs up when, instead of ringing for the sixth time, it goes straight to voicemail, and dials a different number. If the guy won’t pick up the phone, maybe he can turn the GPS on.

“Hey Best Friend. How’s things?” a chirpy voice asks.

“Hello Charlie, I’m well, relatively.” 

“What’s up?”

“I need to find a phone. Can you turn its GPS on?”

“Of course. What’s the number?”

Castiel reads the digits off the piece of paper he scribbled it down on. There is a strange stillness on the other end of the line, but then it passes and he hears only furious typing and clicking for a few minutes. Charlie is nice. Gabriel told him about her and her skill set. For some reason, she took a liking to him. She found his awkwardness endearing or something. It’s nice, having someone apart from Gabriel who cares about him.

“Okay.” Charlie’s voice pulls him out of him musings. “It’s turned off at the moment, but I’ve got the most recent tower it pinged off. The phone is, or was, somewhere in the warehouse district.”

“Thank you, Charlie.”

“No worries, Cas. Anything else I can do for you?”

He almost says no, but figures if there’s anything corrupt about Alistair on the internet, Charlie will be able to find it.

“Why do you need to know that sort of thing?”

“New job,” he deflects.

“Okay, then. I’ll see what I can dig up. With his sort of profile though, I don’t think there’ll be much to find…”

“Whatever you can get will be helpful.”

“Sure thing. I’ll let you know what comes up.”

 

Cas makes his way to the area Charlie described. It’s a bunch of both in-use and abandoned warehouses. The Angel could have been doing almost anything here. Scouting, meeting someone, accessing a storage unit.

He is just contemplating whether or not he should park and take a look around, when his cellphone buzzes in his pocket.

“Cas, why did you want that number tracked? Is it to do with the thing with Alistair Letum?” She sounds… worried?

He frowns. “I haven’t been able to connect through in the last three days. Why?”

Charlie is silent for a minute, hesitating. “It’s just. I was looking into him, and his company owns a place near that tower. I thought it was weird, I mean, why would an accounting and insurance firm have a warehouse in the first place? Then I realised it was in the range of that cell tower and… it could be random, but…”

“Yes, thank you for telling me. That could make sense… What was the address of the warehouse?”

Charlie rattles it off and lingers on the line. 

“Is… is that all, Charlie?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll call you later if I find more stuff. Bye Cas.” And then she hangs up abruptly.

Strange…

But he brushes it off. Now comes the dilemma. If the Angel has been captured by Alistair’s people, should he try to rescue him? Or just let them kill him, if they haven’t already. Then he won’t have to deal with him; he won’t have to try to work with the guy.

But he knows he can’t just let someone die. He has never been able to do that. Not even to someone he loathes so much. And really, he doesn't despise the Angel as much as he does some others.

He turns his car in the direction of the address Charlie gave him.

 

* * * * *

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. They’ve fed him a few times but he’s still starving. It’s got to be a day or two at least, by that reckoning.

But honestly, he barely notices the ache in his stomach. It’s bearable, practically pleasant, compared to what else his body has been subjected to.

At the start, he was silent, only opening his mouth to spit insults and demand to know why he was here, that he didn’t know anything if it was information they were looking for.

Azazel took his sweet time with him. There are welts on his thighs, on his chest, from a hot poker. Smaller burns dot his chest as well, and creep up to his neck. Cigarettes.

Hours later, another guy came in. Azazel called him ‘boss’. He kept to the shadows though, or out of Dean’s line of sight. He strung Dean up to a hook hanging from the ceiling, making his arms and torso stretch out, pulling the burns painfully.

Then there’s the knife. It just dragged to start with, barely piercing skin.

Until it didn’t anymore.

That’s when he started to scream.

 

He’s slumped back on the chair now, blood oozing from his nose and split lip and the gashes that probably make some gruesome pattern on his skin.

Azazel is monologuing some bullshit as he paces, trying to be dramatic. Dean doesn’t really know what he’s saying. He doesn’t really know much of anything right now.

Oh. That’s some shouting though. And Azazel is gone too.

Is that smoke? Something orange starts glowing beyond the door. Fuck. Fuck, he’s gonna burn. Azazel is still alive and he’s going to be killed in a fire and his mum will have died for nothing. He’s going the same way she did when she tried to protect him.

_I’m sorry, Mum. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…_

Something strong grips his upper arm tight, hauls him up. But he can’t stand. He falls into a solid something. A body. The body of the person holding his arm.

They’re moving slowly, Dean practically being dragged across the room.

The last thing he remembers before total blackness is a blaze of white heat at his side and little flecks of blue swimming in his vision.

 

He wakes up in an unknown bed some indeterminable amount of time later and his back still feels like it’s on fire. A voice behind him mutters, “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” and then there is a soothing sensation, maybe a cloth or a cream. He can’t really tell. He doesn’t recognise the voice either.

Dean tries to push himself up but ends up collapsing in a coughing fit.

The guy behind him mutters something under his breath, and then a glass of water is being shoved at him.

Turning to take it, his eyes land on the stranger.

Shit. That isn’t a stranger at all.

“The Hunter?” Dean wheezes in disbelief. “What the everloving fuck are you doing here?”

The guy snorts. “I’ve been wondering the same thing for the last four hours.”

Dean just blinks, still kind of woozy.

“I pulled you out of the fire at Alistair’s warehouse. That was approximately four hours ago. You’ve been unconscious the entire time. I was just putting more antiseptic on the grazes on your back when you woke up.”

Dean blinks. “Okay… but… why is it you?”

“Because we’re meant to be colleagues, Dean Winchester. You wouldn’t answer your phone so I looked—”

“Excuse me? How do you know my last name?”

“My enployers led me to believe it was Smith, but I heard someone yelling about Dean Winchester as I dragged you out of the warehouse. My employers also informed me that we are to work together on a job. I could not contact you so I went looking.”

Dean’s jaw drops. “Uh…”

“You should have been notified. My employers implied that you would be aware of this.”

“Okay, look buddy.” Dean roll onto his side and immediately regrets it as his arm starts throbbing. A grey-red tinge to his skin tells him a nasty bruise is forming. “I don’t know what kind of joke is happening here but it sure as shit ain’t funny. Thanks for pulling me out of that hellhole, I guess, but it stops now.”

The Hunter throws him a phone. Dean’s phone. He must have grabbed it from the room…

Fourteen missed calls from Jo, two from Frank and six from an unknown number. 

Dean’s brow scrunches up. He presses redial on Frank’s number and waits.

The usual clicks and whirrs of Frank’s security system sound, and then its Frank’s voice, gruff and a little pissed, yelling, “About time! Where the hell have you been? No don’t answer, I don’t care. Look, I know you’re gonna hate this and I hope the bastard hasn’t already made contact, but you’re to work a job with the Hunter. Needs your particular expertise or something. Wants help taking down a guy called Alistair. Any questions?”

While Dean’s brain tries to catch up to everything that just got spewed into his ear, the blankets around his waist are pulled down and a hand takes hold of his knee. He flinches away, gasping, but is held in place while another hand dabs more antiseptic onto the poker burns.

“What was that, Dean?” Frank asks.

“Yeah, about ‘making contact’… that’s happened.”

“Damn. You haven’t killed the guy, have you? We’ll both be losing out big if the guy’s dead, Smith.”

“No I haven’t killed him Frank, Christ.”

The Hunter looks up, startled. There’s silence from Frank, then, “What was that noise? You aren’t fucking are you?”

Why did Dean have to take a sip of water right then? Why? Now he’s coughing and spluttering and the Hunter looks severely displeased with the spit water now dampening his hair.

“Fuck, Frank. No. Oh my god,” Dean manages to choke out.

“Good. Things get messy when you screw colleagues,” he says, seemingly not at all perturbed by… well, anything that’s happened in the last five minutes. “Well, since you know what I had to tell you, I’ll be going. I won’t have any more jobs for you until this one is wrapped up. Goodbye, Smith” And he’s gone. Typical Frank.

Dean looks over to the Hunter, who is towelling his hair dry and fuming. 

He settles down on his back gingerly, trying not to irritate the sores along his spine. “Alright then. So we gotta work together. Can I have a name? Cos I’ll just make one up myself otherw—”

“Castiel Novak. That unknown number on your phone is me. Now if you could just stay still for a moment, I can finish putting antiseptic on your injuries.” The guy – Castiel – keeps looking at him until Dean nods acceptance. It’s not really staring, per se, it’s more focused and… actually no it really is staring. Creepy and intense staring like he can see right through any bullshit you try to throw at him. Dean doesn’t like it. It makes him feel raw.

To distract himself, he turns back to his phone to add Castiel’s number and sees the ‘six missed calls’ notification flashing at him.

“Six times, buddy. Aw. You couldn’t wait to talk to me?” Dean teases because he’s an asshole. 

Novak scowls. “I am impatient to start the job. The sooner we start, the sooner we take down Alistair, the sooner it is that I never have to spend another moment in the same room as you.”

“Damn, Cas, tell us how you really feel.”

He’s staring again. Or maybe this is glaring, with all the anger creasing his face.

Dean sighs and relaxes back onto the pillow. Time for another nap. He can deal with all this crap later.

 

* * * * *

 

Three days later, Dean is wheeling a suitcase full of files into a hotel room. Not the same one as Cas took him to after the fire, but using a hotel room as a base was one of the only things they have both agreed so far. Castiel has his own room, but Dean’s has a table, so that’s the one they’re going to keep everything in. Over the last few days, Cas told Dean what he knows about the target, Alistair. Dean had heard the name mentioned in conjunction with Azazel before, but he never would have guessed they meant Alistair Letum, the well-known businessman. In return, Dean told Cas the general gist of what he know about Azazel and his methods. Cas called one of his contacts who might know anything about Azazel’s next move but he has yet to hear back.

Now it’s getting late, and Dean is still in a world of pain when he puts too much strain on himself, so for right now, he just wants to shower and fall into bed. He yawns widely and staggers into the shower, letting the warm water run over his body until he figures he’s clean enough.

The air is chilly when he gets out, October rapidly deciding it’s time to go, and he quickly pulls on a t-shirt and boxers and settles down with the bed covers pulled tight over him.

Just as he’s dropping off, someone starts banging on the door.

“Wha- th’ fuck…” he mumbles, jerking back to wakefulness. “Ugh.”

He slides off the bed and almost faceplants before stumbling over to the door.

Of fucking course it’s Castiel on the other side. “You know the other room they said they had for me?”

“Yeah?” Dean groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean they don’t actually have a room for me.”

“Um… okay?” Cas doesn’t move. He just keeps staring in that creepy intense way he has. “What, you wanna stay here? With me?”

“If that would be acceptable, yes.”

“They have no possible other room for you to use?”

“Sold out for the week with Dick Roman’s big gala thing.”

Dean sighs. “Fuck. Fine. Whatever man,” he concedes, rubbing a hand tiredly across his eyes. “You can take the floor or the chair or something. There’s spare blankets and shit in the cupboard.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the small built in wardrobe.

Cas nods and drops his stuff on the floor by the table, and then goes over to the cupboard to take out what he needs. He dumps it in a pile on the old arm chair and then he takes some clothes out of his bag and goes into the bathroom. Soon, Dean hears the water running and eventually dozes off.

 

* * * * *

 

God this is a pain in the ass. Why did they double book? Why does he have to be the one to move? He and Dean hate each other enough as it is, what will it be like literally living on top of each other for weeks? There isn’t even a second bed in the room for Cas. Maybe he can convince Dean to alternate. A few days on the bed each at a time. That could work quite well, he supposes. Cas groans. He would have to convince the stubborn man though. Maybe it’s not worth it.

Cas shakes his head and dumps his night clothes on the basin and turns the shower on. He gives it a few moments to warm up before stepping under the meagre spray to wash off the day’s grime and anger. He scrubs quickly and gets out before the water turns cold and gives him a nasty shock, since Dean has probably already used up most of the hot water. Cas could blame him for that, but then he supposes that Dean was not aware that he would be needing to share it.

Thank god for spare towels. The one Dean used is chucked unceremoniously into the corner, but there is still a fresh one sitting on the shelf. After drying himself off, Cas pulls on his old plaid pyjama pants and a soft AC/DC t-shirt and exits the bathroom, leaving the door ajar to let the steam out.

He is just settling down under a scratchy blanket on the chair when he realises he didn’t brush his teeth. Ugh, they will be gross by morning if he doesn’t do something now. Tiredly he pushes himself upright and grabs his toiletry bag from his backpack on the way past. After just using mouthwash because he is too tired and too lazy to actually brush them right now (god he is becoming a sloth.) Not even bothering to brush when he already bothered to get up.

Just as he is returning to the main room, Dean rolls over, dead asleep, snoring and snuffling, before settling down on his other side. It’s almost… endearing…

What?

No. That is not - Cas did not just. He really must be tired.

He shakes his head vigorously to rid it of these bizarre thoughts, and settles back in his chair. He pulls the blanket up and closes his eyes in the hope that feigning sleep with result in actual sleep taking him.

 

Sleep eventually does come, but it is not pleasant. As has been happening of late, his dreams swiftly dissolve into nightmares. Into memories.

The burning sun, the dust and grime, the noise.

Like zooming in, more specific, voices shouting. His stomach aches and he can feel a trickle of blood running down his cheek. Knuckles throbbing, face stinging, vision blurring with tears. “Castiel? Castiel! Lieutenant Novak, stand down. Novak! Stand down!” 

Cas shoots up from his cramped position on the chair. Where is he? Where… what happened? What’s… and then he sees Dean’s silhouette on the bed from the window. Fuck. Fuck. He’s in L.A. It’s okay. He’s… he’s okay. Cas bends over and lets his head hang between his knees, trying to regain his breath, trying not to throw up the entire contents of his stomach.

Shit, he hasn’t had a nightmare that vivid in months. Distantly, he registers that he is shaking, his breath still coming in short and sharp gasps. Slowly he regains enough control over himself to try slowing it down, to mediate the rapid motions. One shuddering breath after another, and some more, and he finally can sit back and not immediately feel his stomach churn again.

In fact, the last time he woke up feeling like this was when he was still staying at Gabriel’s after he returned to the U.S. That was only a few short months after the colonel on his base handed him a letter issuing him with a dishonourable discharge. There is only so much one can fight when he had to be physically restrained from beating a senior officer. Even though it was provoked, Lucifer was his higher up. Almost at the top. No one believed Castiel over him, despite his wretched, broken pleas to the contrary. Don't Ask, Don't Tell has been revoked but you can't erase that much internalised discrimination overnight. He is Other. It must have been his fault.

He sinks back into the chair, knowing he won’t get any more sleep, but hoping that he can at least rest some. He brushes his hair back from his face and finds it wet with tears. Huh. He hasn’t done that in a year either. He sniffs, feeling dampness around his nose as well. Then he feels more tears leak out from his eyes. Within moments he’s sobbing, choking on the heaviness in his throat and heart. He tries to be quiet, he does. He can’t let Dean see him like this. But there is nothing he can do to stop or to silence his sorrow.

 

* * * * *

 

Dean wakes up suddenly. He doesn’t know why. It’s still dark out, and his phone is black and silent. He draws himself up slowly and peers around in the dimness, the room barely lit by the outside streetlamps and possibly a hint of the moon. If it can actually get through the smog of this godawful city.

There doesn’t seem to be anything out of place… Cas is still in his chair, sitting up. Wait. His shoulders are shaking. Dean flicks the lamp on, lighting up the room and throwing into sharp relief the red blotches and dampness on the other man’s face.

“Cas?” he asks blearily, still half asleep.

Cas jerks sharply and looks over at Dean. “Oh. I’m sorry, Dean. Did I wake you?”

“Um, I don’t think so. I just… woke up.” Dean struggles through the information he has been presented with. “Man, what’s up?” Dean really shouldn’t care. This is the Hunter, after all. But… but he’s hurting. And if there’s anything Dean can do, apart from successfully commit crimes and protect the public from bad guys, it’s look after people. And right now, Cas’ bloodshot eyes and defeated expression are telling him loud and clear that he needs help.

Cas looks like he doesn’t want to reply for a while, but eventually one side of his thoughts wins out against the other and he caves. “My brother…” He trips over the words and he doesn’t elaborate. 

But Dean isn’t totally stupid. His brother probably died… Shit that sucks. He offers what he considers meaningless platitudes. “I ah… I’m sure he’s in a better place now…”

Cas laughs. A sharp, pained humourless laugh. “God I hope not.”

Wow. Okay then… “Um…” Dean says intelligently.

“I am not going to explain this to you, Dean. I just want to rest. Please?” He sounds so sincere, almost like he’s pleading. Dean keeps assessing him for several moments before making his own decision.

He holds up one side of the blanket and says, “Come on, get in.”

Cas freezes and his eyes go wide. He shakes his head.

“Come on man. I know we hate each other but I promise I ain’t gonna kill you in your sleep. You won’t get any rest worth getting staying in that chair. You look like shit, man.” Cas huffs at that and an almost smile pulls at the side of his mouth. “Won’t do us any good if you’re too tired to function tomorrow.”

The other man hesitates, at war with himself again. Finally, he stands and slowly makes his way over, lying down as far away from Dean as he can. Dean drops the blankets back but Cas makes no move to pull them closer. He just leaves them awkwardly piled over him.

“Blankets, Cas, god. I'm freezing my ass off here, you are not making the whole bed colder cos you don’t want them on. Here…” Dean pulls the blankets up over Cas’ shoulders and settles back down facing the other way. Cas still doesn’t move. “If you ah… You probably don’t, especially not to me, but if you do… wanna talk about it… I um… I can listen, if you want…” Great, now he just feels stupid. He shifts uncomfortably and adds, “I still hate you, though.”

Dean, now intently facing away and keeping is eyes shut tight, misses the tiny smile that curls up the corner of Cas’ mouth.

 

* * * * *

 

The next morning, Cas has left the bed by the time Dean wakes up. He can hear the shower running. Even though Cas took one last night. Is he one of those weirdos who showers twice a day? Or was it because of whatever happened before Dean woke up in the middle of the night?

Dean doesn’t dwell on it. He staggers up and fumbles around for some clothes to throw on. 

Until they get word from Balthazar, Cas’ contact, they don’t have much else to do apart from go through all of Dean’s files. Dean has read all of them at least a dozen times, but there could always be something he missed, and Cas needs to see them for the first time. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah Cas?”

“This says there have been 28 incidents over the last 30 years, but I can only find 26 files…”

Dammit. Dean hoped he wouldn’t notice that. “Uh, yeah, that’s because…uh… I was…” He clears his throat. He supposes it had to come up at some point, but he had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. He hates talking about this… “I was involved in both cases. Didn’t bother making a file for them.”

Castiel stares, his gaze alone enough to make Dean keep talking. “First one was my own family. Dunno what my parents did but he came after us. Burnt our house down. Mum died.”

“Oh Dean, I’m—”

“Second one was the Braedon’s. They didn’t do anything, Azazel was just pissed that we almost got him the year before and decided to come after me. He didn’t kill them, but he hurt them and I… Me and Lisa were… But I couldn’t stay after that. They got hurt because of me. I couldn’t put them at risk again.” He trails off. 

Cas reaches out a hand and brushes against Dean’s arm. “I’m sorry Dean.”

He huffs. “Yeah, thanks.”

As the silence stretches out, Dean starts to feel vaguely uncomfortable. He just revealed a lot about himself and his family to a guy he’s supposed to despise. He feels a little raw, but doesn’t wish he could take it back either.

“Azazel dies.”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“Azazel dies. What he did to all these families, what he did to yours. It is unforgivable and he deserves to pay for what he has done.”

While taken aback by the unexpected passion in Cas’ voice, Dean almost preens. This guy cares. Maybe he does have a heart… 

 

* * * * *

 

Dean has nightmares that night. He’s been lucky so far, they’ve not been anything different to the last five, ten, twenty years of them. But that night features Alistair.

(He’d confirmed that when they were watching the news the other day and the anchors interviewed the guy about his policies. Dean recognises his face from the warehouse. It was shadowed there, yes, but there’s no mistaking it. And certainly no forgetting that voice.

“That guy?” Dean gestured incredulously at the screen. “That’s one of the guys I’ve been hunting for the past 20 years? The next fucking governor?”

Castiel just shrugged.)

It’s horrible. He’s pretty sure it’s all memories, though awake he can’t remember half of it. And he can’t wake up. He fights it so hard but he’s stuck in his head, forced to relive it all, over and over again.

He finally wakes panting and shivering when something cool and damp is pressed to his forehead. Cas is muttering under his breath, something about ‘just let me fucking sleep you asshole, I hate you.’

Dean rolls over and he might’ve said, “Sorry man,” but he doesn’t really remember properly.

He does remember Cas sighing, and then a soft voice singing something in… is that Russian? And then he’s asleep again, this time nightmare-free.

 

* * * * *

 

They’re meeting Balthazar this morning for information. Hopefully something that will lead them either to Azazel, or directly to Alistair.

Cas walks out of the bathroom and looks for all intents and purposes like nothing out of the ordinary happened barely six hours ago. His eyes flick up and down Dean’s body and if the expression on Cas’ face had been any different, Dean would’ve thought he was being checked out. But Cas had a disgruntled, almost disappointed look gracing his features.

“What? Not fancy enough for this meeting?” he asks shortly, appraising Cas’ nice pants and shirt and tie. 

“It’s… fine. You will be fine…” Cas says. “Just let me talk. I will do all the negotiation here.”

“Yeah. Fine. Whatever gets us a lead, man,” he grumbles.

Cas seems slightly taken aback by Dean’s no-fuss agreement. But why would he argue. If it gets them to Azazel or Alistair, why would he?

 

They make their way out to Pasadena in Dean’s car. Because Cas’ car is just. No. Just no.

There’s a park between some shops and a primary school, and Dean pulls his car off to the side of the road. A man in a suit is waiting on a bench. Wow. This is like… next level stereotypes. Cas immediately gets out once the car is idling, and makes his way over. Dean hurries to actually park fully and catch up.

“Who is this, Mr Novak?”

“An associate,” he replies shortly. “He will hear this from me later, or save us all time and tell him too.”

The guy looks Dean up and down, appraising him, before saying, “Very well.”

The suit guy – Balthazar – says there’s a family. They owe money to Alistair and haven’t paid their debt. And their time is up.

Like Ellen.

Like his parents.

Like all those other poor bastards that got caught up in this horror show.

In an instant, Dean in resolved. They have to save these people. He stopped the Roadhouse from being razed to the ground, the two of them together can stop this. Save another family from being destroyed as Dean’s was.

“Where?”

“Excuse me?”

“Dean…”

“Where do they live? We have to get them out. We have to stop this.”

“Yes but—”

“When is Azazel going after them, and where do they live?”

The guys purses his lips together and glances at Cas. Cas nods subtly and the man continues, “three days.”

“Th-three days?! Are you kidding me?! We have almost zero time left! Where the fuck are they? How could you know this and do nothing?!”

“That is not information I have any desire to privilege you with. But I will tell you where to find them. They aren’t at home, they know what is coming. Azazel will find them wherever they go, and he is going in three days,” the man replies curtly. He then pulls out a map of the city and shows them exactly where to find the family.

 

Back in the car, Cas is silent and angry for several minutes before he says anything. “Dean, that was incredibly stupid.”

“What are you talkin’ ‘bout? We got the information, didn’t we?”

“Yes. Luckily. You have no idea how close we came to losing him. Or our lives.”

“The fuck? Our lives?”

“He had a gun in the pocket of his coat pointing directly at your heart the entire time since you walked up.”

Dean takes a moment to process that before shrugging and trying to play it off. “Well, he didn’t shoot me, we got the info, so we’re all good.”

Cas just sighs in utter exasperation and doesn’t say another word.

 

Just as things are starting to get awkward, Dean’s stomach grumbles. Cas muffles a snort of laughter behind his hand, and asks, “Hungry, are we?”

“Hey, we skipped breakfast!” Dean protests.

Cas snorts again. “I don’t usually eat breakfast…”

“Dude, are you kidding me?! Bacon! Eggs! Pancakes!! Left-over pie!”

Cas coughs awkwardly and stares pointedly out the window.

“Dude. Tell me you have eaten left-over pie for breakfast at least once…” When he doesn’t reply, Dean amends, “Have you eaten pie ever?!”

“I have never had occasion to.”

What? This is just. Dear god, this is an abomination. “How have—when is it not an occasion to eat pie? You have been deprived, man. Okay. We are fixing this. Right now.”

Dean drives towards the suburb his own apartment is in. Literally a major reason he got it there was because one of the best burger and pie places in the city is just a few blocks away. Well, that’s open during the day of course. Nothing can beat Ellen’s food, especially her pecan pie. Oh yeah. He has to take Cas there one time.

But the Roadhouse is gone. Fuck, he keeps forgetting.

It takes a minute before Dean realises just how weird that thought was, even if the Roadhouse was still intact. How totally… out of place. It’s just… Nope. He shakes his head to rid himself of the thought. It’ll never happen. Not in this universe.

He pulls up outside and parks, ushering Cas through the diner door as quickly as he can make seem appropriate. Cas still eyes him funny, but Cas eyes everyone funny so it’s probably nothing to worry about. And since when did he start noticing that? But he did. To the lady at the gas station who didn’t understand when he asked where to find rations, and the guy in the lobby yesterday who was trying to explain the parking rules for tenants of the hotel.

Ava behind the counter recognises him immediately and greets him with enthusiasm. “Hey Dean! Your usual?”

“Yep, thanks. And make it two.”

“Sure thing!” She smiles brightly and she rings it up and passes the note back to the kitchen.

Dean wanders over to his usual booth, Cas following hesitantly behind him.

“Um…” Cas begins once they’re seated. “What is your ‘usual’?” He even does the stupid air quotes. What a nerd.

“Double bacon cheeseburger with fries, and a side of apple pie.” Dean grins cheerfully. The looks on Cas’ face turns to one of mild terror, as though he’s never eaten so much food, let alone so much grease, in one sitting before in his life.

“Chill, man, it’s divine. You’ll love it.”

Cas still looks skeptical but nods anyway.

When the food comes out, Castiel still seems dubious, but he takes a bite anyway. The noise he makes then is obscene. 

“You having fun there, buddy?”

Cas grins around his mouthful. He looks disgusting and Dean feels a little surge of pride in his protégé. “This is making me very happy.” And then continues to munch on happily, not saying another word until he has finished every morsel on his plate.

 

After a delicious and successful lunch, they head back to their hotel to research the family’s hotel and where the best vantage points would be, and where it is likely Azazel would approach from, where he would try to light the fire.

Cas settles at the small table with his laptop while Dean flicks the TV on for some background noise before grabbing his own computer out of his bag.

The news comes back from an ad break then, and what the reporter says almost makes Dean drop his computer on the floor.

“…And in breaking news, a motel in Baldwin Park has been burnt to the ground.”

“Fuck. Cas, look at this.”

Cas spins in his chair, abruptly taken from his intense focus on his own screen.

“Shit…”

The reporter continues speaking while a recording of the fire plays, and then jumps to another reporter currently on the ground outside. There’s flashing lights and sobbing in the background, while firefighters and EMTs bustle around making sure everything is under control. “The blaze began sometime around midday today…” Dean glances at the clock. It’s only 1:30. They were sitting in a diner when this happened, laughing over too-big mouthfuls and walrus teeth made of chips. They were completely unaware while the family they were supposed to save went up in flames. “…most residents were absent at the time, though a man in his mid-thirties and his young daughter are believed to have been caught inside. Police speculate that this is the work of a serial arsonist who has been terrorising the city for the past decade. Back to you, Michelle…”

Dean turns it off. He can’t watch anymore. They didn’t save them, and Azazel is still in the wind. They fucked up. He wasn’t supposed to go after them for days.

“Why the fuck did your friend tell us we had days? That was barely hours after…”

“Balthazar would not lie on purpose. He didn’t know this would happen.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I trust Balthazar. We have known each other for a long time. He wouldn’t do this to me. He knows what I would do if he did.” Dean squints in confusion and Cas draws his coat open to reveal a shiny silver blade tucked away inside. Dean’s eyes widen dramatically and he glances away.

“Okay. Then Azazel’s changing up his pattern. This is wrong. This is all wrong. He… he usually acts at night. Old Balthy thought it’d be a few days… Something is off about all this… He knows we’re after him, he knows we’re close.” It’s the only logical conclusion. The only new factor that he can think of.

Of course Cas tears it down. “Dean, you’ve been doing this for years. He literally gave you his business card to contact him. He knows you’re after him, he’s known for years. I believe it was made fairly obvious to him that you were close when you walked right through his damn front door. It isn’t because we weren’t careful enough, just something about this family. Like perhaps the fact that they were in a hotel instead of their own home.”

“How can you be sure? What if it was us who fucked up? He could have had us tracked, he could know everything.”

“Then we will figure something out.”

“Dammit Cas! We didn’t save them. There was a second kid, remember? She’s gonna come home from school and her family will be gone. And she’s gonna be all alone.” Dean is pacing now, agitated and upset.

Cas doesn’t say anything for several moments, until very softly, he say, “I know why you do this, Dean.” Dean scoffs and makes to leave. Somewhere that isn’t in this stinking apartment with this too calm asshole and his stupid soothing words. “You don’t have to save them all.” He freezes. “I’m sorry about what happened to your family. I am. And I realise this situation reminds you of them. But you can’t save everyone, my friend. Though you try…”

“You’re not my friend, Cas. We’re just colleagues. It’s one job, then we part ways. Back to how it was before.”

Cas’ face tightens with barely contained fury. “In any case,” Cas grits out, “this was not your fault.”

“Whatever,” Dean spits, and then storms off, slamming the door behind him.

How can he say that? How can he possibly think this isn’t their fault? That those people dying isn’t on them? 

Who cares if they couldn’t have gotten there in time whether they went to lunch or not. They could have done something. They should have saved them.

 

He ends up at the Roadhouse before he remembers it’s gone. Seeing the ash-covered husk of a building makes his heart seize. There’s barely anything left. Parts of the walls and a pile of blackened timber. He drops his head to the steering wheel as all the hell of the last week boils over in hot tears that make his nose run.

He’s startled up sometime later by a knock on the window.

Jo is staring at him, a mixture of anger and surprise and worry contorting her face.

He wipes the muck off his face and opens the door.

“Hey Jo.”

She slaps him. Hard.

He definitely deserved it.

“It’s been a week, Dean! A whole fucking week and you still haven’t called!”

“I know, I—” She punches him and this time he flinches. She managed to land right on one of his sores.

“What happened, Dean?” He doesn’t answer. “Did you do something stupid? Did—you didn’t go after the guy, did you?”

Still he doesn’t say anything. Her mouth drops open and she looks like she wants to hit him again. “You dumbass, Dean! What if he killed you?!”

“He tried…”

She just gapes at him.

He sighs. He’ll have to explain some basic details then. “He got me, there was a fire in the building. Everyone ran screaming and left me alone, so I could get out too.”

She turns and gestures silently, barely comprehending his stupidity. Eventually she resorts to smacking him again, thankfully missing any of the more painful injuries littering his skin. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” he agrees, because really, it’s true. “Just, don’t tell your mum? Please?”

She turns away sighing. “Fine. But you gotta come home and see her, she only got home yesterday and she’s fuckin’ pissed at you for not calling.”

 

Dean ends up spending the rest of the day there. Ellen looks a little the worse for wear, but she’s still as snarky as always. And Bobby makes a surprise appearance, calls Dean an idjit and then settles on the couch next to Ellen for the rest of the night. Both pretend to be grumpy about it, but Dean can see how their demeanours soften around each other.

Dean and Jo both smirk at each other when they’re not looking.

Then Sam calls. “Oh so you are alive, and just ignoring me.”

“Yeah Sammy, I’m fine. What, Jo tell you I went AWOL or something?”

“She was worried about you, Dean. Why didn’t you call her or something?”

“Sam…”

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

Dean hesitates.

“Goddammit Dean! I thought you left all this behind after Dad died. I thought you were escaping him too.”

“Hey, don’t bring Dad into this shit, Sam.”

“Why not, it’s why you’re like this. It’s the reason any of this is still happening to you, to us. You’re an idiot for still trying to finish what he started.”

“Oh, wow, thanks so much for your concern about my health and all that,” Dean spits. “And you wonder why I ignore your calls,” he adds under his breath. They always end up like this. Neither of them is ever able to manage a whole conversation with each other without it descending to anger and bitterness.

“He ruined our lives Dean, and you know it.”

“Didn’t seem to ruin yours, Mr Honour-Roll-plus-Full-Ride-to-Law-School. Just me and my dumb ass that couldn’t help but get saddled with a pointless revenge mission.”

“Dean…”

“Bye Sam. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

Great. Now he’s even more pissed off than before. He stomps back to the hotel room in a rage and looking forward to a semi-nice bed and some sleep, only to find Castiel already curled up, dead to the world.

He dumps his stuff on the table in a huff, shucks his pants and folds himself into the uncomfortable armchair. Maybe if he goes to sleep, it’ll all just melt away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for homophobia and also nsfw

Cas pulls the beanie down further over Dean’s ears. “I look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You look modern. Stop complaining.”

“Fuck modern.”

“Oh, maybe later.” 

Dean splutters. Over the last two weeks, Cas has been opening up more, relaxing more. But Dean still gets surprised when he’s that blatantly obvious. 

“Well, why do you get to wear your normal clothes and I’ve gotta wear this crap?” he pulls at the loose t-shirt and low riding jeans. He doesn’t even want to think about the beanie.

“Because we want to endear ourselves to them, not come off defensive. This is more modern and relaxed than your usual attire.”

Dean grumbles something unintelligible and goes back out to the room.

It’s been weeks since the hotel burned down and they have no more leads on Azazel. Cas says Balthazar will tell him if anything comes up, but for now they’re out of options on that front. When Dean suggested they look into Alistair’s insurance firm, Cas had jumped at the chance to do something apart from stare at files and computer screens for hours on end.

Today, they’re posing as a couple looking for insurance so they have an excuse to be in the building. Cas made them a legitimate appointment and everything.

Dean hates everything about this day so far.

 

The building is a big high-rise in the city centre, yet by some stroke of luck, Dean managed to get a park just down the block. 

The inside is just as over the top as the outside. Just the foyer alone is three floors high, all marble and fancy lighting. Excessive, Cas thinks. Alistair is showing off.

They wander around for a while, pretending to be taking in the architecture and opulence of the building, but really, each of them is looking for anything that could suggest something more is hidden behind those walls.

Down the hall to the bathrooms is a set of double doors labelled maintenance. Why would a maintenance cupboard have double doors? Maybe it is but Cas figures it’s worth checking out.

The doors open to a functional white hallway with another branching off and a few doors. They walk along, hoping to look confused and lost to any possible security personnel watching.

At the far end is an elevator, innocuous looking, but Cas notices something weird about it.

“The light.”

“What about it?” Dean looks up at the ceiling. It is hilarious, the sight of a grown man throwing his head back to stare up at the roof like a little kid who just let go of their balloon.

“Not that light, you idiot. The elevator. Over there.” Cas just directs his eyes towards it, so the security cams don’t pick out anything suspicious. If this really is what he thinks it is, the security systems and employees will be of the highest calibre. They have to be extra careful. “The official plans of the building were only for floors above this one. But the movement of the light tells me that it didn’t go up. It went down. Why would an elevator go down to a floor that doesn’t exist?”

“Because there’s a secret underground lair where Alistair keeps all his little toothpicks?”

Cas slaps his arm. They really are standing very close. He shouldn’t be feeling as comfortable as he is right now. It should be awkward but it isn’t. It is probably a good thing, since they’re meant to be impersonating an actual couple. They are supposed to look comfortable around each other. It would be weird if they didn’t look comfortable. Yeah he’s thinking too much. Time to stop. And Cas is looking at him oddly. He must’ve zoned out for too long. Shit. Pull it together Winchester. 

“Or where they store all their files and equipment necessary to run their entire underground business.”

“Heh. Underground. Literally.” God, Dean is so immature. Cas just purses his lips, trying not to smile, but really failing when Dean starts to chortle.

“Dean, be serious. We are trying to work here.”

Dean schools his face to one of perfect stoicism, but Cas knows it’s just an act. “Okay. I’m good. So we got that Alistair keeps all his shit in an underground vault, Ocean’s Eleven-style. Well, we’re only two people, but we can make it work.”

“I do not understand that reference…”

Dean stares in horror. “Dude. Cas. Buddy. You have got to be kidding me this time. Like actually, you can’t be…” At Cas’ face, Dean changes track. “You’re actually not kidding. You are fuckin’ serious. You are a criminal and master thief and you haven’t seen one of the greatest heist movies of all time.” Dean drops his head into his hands and murmurs, “I have surrounded myself with morons.” Then to Cas, he says, “Tonight man. On the way home we are stopping by the video store, I am actually gonna buy this movie because shit man. And we are getting Chinese take-out and watching it.”

“I have had Chinese take-out before.” Cas grins so widely, he looks like a proud school kid who just aced a test. Dean thinks it’s kind of adorable. He can feel his smile softening to one of genuine fondness. No act behind this. Oh fuck.

Cas squints at him. “Are… are you alright, Dean?”

“Yeah, man, I’m good. I’m great. What next? Where to?”

“Well our appointment is in ten minutes. We could go upstairs and scope out the place a little. See what else might be around. This has been a big step though. It is a good day whether we find something else or not.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Right then, a security guard comes around the corner. Cas automatically tenses, ready to flee. But Dean puts on a hopefully realistic sigh of relief.

“What are you two doing down here?”

“Sorry man,” Dean says as he strides forward towards the guy. “Went to the bathroom and got lost trying to find the elevator. We have an appointment soon with uhh… Hey, babe, who is it again?”

Cas blinks furiously for a few seconds, taken aback by the unexpected term of endearment, sounding just a little too perfect on Dean’s tongue, before responding, “Um, Ms. Masters. At 12:30.” He holds out the piece of paper with their appointment details written on it.

The security guy eyes them both suspiciously for a few moments before nodding. He shrugs and asks them to please follow him. “I’ll show you where you’re supposed to go. Sorry about that, boys. Employee Only zone back there.” The guys leads them back towards the lobby. He seems a nice fellow, chatting as they walk. Then, unexpectedly he says, “You guys are real cute, y’know. Me and my hubby used to be a lot like you, people said we were adorable. Hope you get through this alright. These kinds of meetings, it’s what tears people apart, I reckon. This building has seen the end of a lot of relationships. Man, the number of angry partners I’ve had to escort off the premises.” He shakes his head. “But you two look real solid. I reckon you’ll be fine.” He throws a genuine grin over his shoulder as he pulls open a different set of double doors, beyond which, the white marble and stainless steel lobby is visible.

Castiel takes note of their location relative to the desks and doors and elevators for future reference.

Dark clouds can be seen gathering through the high glass windows. There will be a storm tonight. Cas smiles. He loves storms. He loves the pure energy and power they hold, the explosions of light and sound then the frail clouds collide and can no longer contain the rawness. He likes to go running in storms. He wonders if he can maybe convince Dean to join him. He doubts he would want to, but maybe he can swing the whole ‘I tried your favourite food, you try one of my favourite hobbies.’ It might work. No harm in making an attempt, after all. He loves the heaviness in the air, the weight of the water pounding down on his head and back and the footpath, the heady smell of electricity and damp pavement. There is little better than that feeling.

“Hey, Cas, you alright?” Cas jumps. Oh. He zoned out. “Now you’re the weirdo staring at the ceiling.”

Cas still has a soft little smile on his face. When he has that look, it’s like all the weight on his shoulders is gone. Like he’s just innocent and carefree, without all this crap to pull him into the mud. It’s a good look on him. Dean suddenly has the strongest urge to make sure Cas can smile like that all the time.

“There’s a storm coming,” Cas points at the window. “I love storms.”

Then he looks away from it and is jolted back to Earth. The smile fades, replaced with the usual indifferent scowl and slightly quizzical eyebrow squinty-ness. 

“Alright Thor. Time to go.” Dean grabs him by the arm and steers him towards the elevator. The public elevator. That will take them where they actually are supposed to go. They made sure to get the appointment with one of the firm’s best people so they could get to the higher floors, hopefully closer to Alistair’s place itself. Or at least it would give them an excuse to wander around up there. The guard mentioned that since Letum is running for governor, he rarely makes appearances at the firm anymore, so chances are there won’t be much to find. 

Once Cas is in motion again, Dean drops his arm, but his hand lingers closer than absolutely necessary. “Dean do you want to… should we uhm…”

“What? Oh. Um. Only if… only if you want to.”

“I don’t know.”

“Just do what feels natural man.”

“I don’t know what feels natural. I have no experience to draw from. And even if I did, I have zero concept of what feels natural. Nothing about personal contact in most situations feels particularly natural to me Dean.”

“Most situations, ey?” Dean leers. Cas rolls his eyes and fixes him with a bitch face that Dean swears he must have learned straight from Sammy, or he would if the two had ever met. “Right. Um…” Dean coughs. Maybe not the best time to be making dirty innuendos. “Fine. Here.” Dean just grabs his hand and holds it. It feels awkward at first, because Dean is way too tense to look natural. But Cas gives him a reassuring squeeze back and slowly he relaxes.

They are going to be late if they snoop around beforehand, so they just glance around quickly as they walk past the top floor offices. Distantly, Dean feels like they might be being too serious about the whole on time to the meeting thing, but whatever. Just go with it.

The meeting isn’t too long, but Dean doesn’t understand most of what is being said. Thankfully, Cas seems to know exactly what is going on, what they are supposedly looking for, and what questions to ask to endear themselves to the Meg, as she asked them to call her. It’s only about ten minutes into the meeting that Dean realises their hands are still clasped together. He makes to pull away but a tighter grip from Cas stops him immediately. 

 

After a more thorough, but fruitless search of the upper floors, they head back down to the lobby. Cas murmurs that he’s going to the bathroom, leaving Dean to wait for him outside the building.

“Oi, faggot!” someone shouts. Dean turns slowly, looking for the source. “Yeah you, in the stupid beanie.” Some young guy on the other side of the road is cupping his hands to yell over. Dean won’t react. He won’t. “Is that beanie to cover your girly hair? You like getting fucked like a girl, you fairy?” Making a scene would be a bad idea. It would draw attention to him. But this punk is already drawing attention to him. People passing by are slowing down to watch what happens. Dean can feel his anger building. “Bet you like it up the ass, don’t you? That poof your boyfriend? Why don’t you come over here, I’ll show you how a real man can fuck you,” the guy leers. Wow. Like that’s not gay at all… “Bet you can put that pretty mouth to good use.” 

Dean snaps. 

He strides over, barely looking for traffic. It’s the middle of the goddamn day. Not that those kinds of things are ever pleasant to hear, but there are kids around, elderly folks. 

“You wanna try saying that to my face,” he spits lowly and grabs the guy’s shirt, throwing him against the wall. “You want me to show you what being bi looks like? I can still beat your ass ten ways to Sunday with my eyes closed.”

“Ohhh, bi then. Heard you’re all a bunch of cheaters. You got a girl on the side? Maybe a few? Or a few guys?” he sneers, his mouth twisting cruelly. He can’t be more than a few years younger than Dean. Sometimes it disturbs him how, even in his own generation, there are still people like this, so fucking bigoted and hateful.

“You really wanna stop that now, before I get proper angry,” he snarls, still holding the guy up by the scruff of his shirt.

“You’re unnatural, is what you are. It’s disgusting and you should all be put down, you ugly fag.”

“I’ll put you down!” he growls, fully intending on at least giving the pavement a taste of the dude’s blood. 

But there’s a hand on his arm yanking him back. “Dean! Stop!”

“Cas—”

“Walk away, Dean.”

“Yeah, walk away, fairy. Be a good boy.” Dean almost spins around to punch him but Cas is right there holding him back with a tight grip on both of his arms. 

“Go to the car, Dean.” 

Dean’s nostrils flare but Cas gives him a push and he slaps away Cas’ hands, finally turning and storming away to the car.

Cas waits a little, until Dean is out of range, then turns back to the bully and uses his momentum to smack a fist right into his nose. The guy’s head cracks sharply against the wall and he slumps a bit. Then Cas leans in real close and whispers, “Next time, I won’t stop him. You would do well to remember that.” He gives him one last shove before following Dean to the car.

When Cas gets back to the Impala, he finds Dean sagging in the passenger seat. That boy’s words must really have hit him hard if he is just giving up control of his beloved car. Cas doesn’t try to talk to him, he recognises the Dean does not at all want to discuss it.

 

Dean barely registers Cas driving. It should be bothering him to no end to have someone else driving his Baby, but it isn’t. He can’t find it in himself to care right now.

In his head there are just memories, swirling and painful, shoved down and repressed until now. His dad pulling him aside one afternoon and saying he wasn’t allowed to be friends with Aaron any more. The one person he spoke to at this school and he was forbidden from even talking to him.

_“You wanna help me get justice, son? Then you better stop hanging around with that boy. It’s unnatural. You're a man, act like it.”_

_“Dad…”_

_John smacks Dean hard across the face. So hard it causes Dean to reel back from the force. He almost stumbles. “Are you a faggot, son? You tellin’ me you’d rather spend time with that freak doing hell knows what unnatural shit, instead of helping your family, doing what you can to get your Mom’s killer? Cos if you do, I don’t want you back here.”_

_“No. No dad that’s not what it is. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it won’t happen again, I swear.”_

_“It better not. Now go get your brother, you’re both getting slack with your training.”_

_The ‘training session’ after that did not go well. John was more aggressive than usual, there was more shouting. He hadn’t even started on the alcohol for the afternoon yet. Sam was belligerent and flippant and that just made Dad worse. And Dean just couldn’t focus. He had kissed Aaron already. They kissed behind the tool shed by the oval. It hadn’t felt unnatural. It hadn’t felt wrong. It felt nice. Like someone cared about him._

_But Dad said it’s wrong. That he shouldn’t do that. And if his Dad said so…_

_He doesn’t deserve to feel like that. Doesn’t deserve to have someone treat him that way, like he matters as an individual even a little._

_Dean still saw Aaron at school over the next month until they moved again. He wanted to talk to him so bad, to apologise. But Dad’s word is final and he said no more talking._

_But writing technically isn’t talking. Dean passed one note saying they couldn’t be friends anymore. He didn’t mention his dad, didn’t give any reason at all. He thinks he hurt Aaron, and he was sorry, so sorry. But his Dad… he couldn’t go against him, not back then._

 

Back at the hotel, Dean doesn’t spare Cas a glance before storming up to their room. He’s gone so quickly, Cas barely makes the elevator. He’s flustered and a little breathless but right now, Dean needs the whiskey in his bag and a dark room where he can forget everything.

He hasn’t thought about those years in a long, long time and he doesn’t appreciate being reminded. His Dad was a dick, he knows that now, but back then… it was horrible and hurtful and made him feel worthless, and at the same time untrue to himself. And now, all those repressed feelings are bubbling up and making themselves known and he hates it. He hates that John can still make him feel like this when he hasn’t given a damn about the guy in years.

“Dean, that was incredibly stupid of you,” Cas begins once the door of the room closes behind him.

“Fuck off, Cas.” He is not in the mood for being reprimanded. It’s not like Cas didn’t turn around and punch the guy anyway.

“No. We can’t be drawing attention to ourselves, especially not in an area we plan to return to,” he retorts, crowding close to Dean. “I understand your reaction, believe me, I do. But there is too much at stake here. We must be careful. You need to think before you just react.”

Dean pushes him away. “What would you have done if someone was yelling slurs at you across a busy street, huh?” he shouts. “Oh wait. You punched him in the face. He wasn’t even talking to you! So you can take your hypocrisy and shove it up your ass!”

“Dean, we were supposed to look like a couple. It’s a good thing people fell for it. There are assholes everywhere and it was bound to happen, honestly. If you were more secure about yourself, you wouldn’t care if they called you gay—”

“That’s what you think this is about? People thinking I’m gay? The only thing that pisses me off about _that_ is that people ignore the fact that being bi is a thing.” Cas blanches, not expecting to get such an honest admission so bluntly. Dean lowers his voice but in no way does he calm down. “I have been comfortable in myself for a while now and I won’t let you make assumptions like you’re some judgemental bastard who doesn’t know the first thing about me.”

“Then what the fuck got you so worked up, Dean?”

“The words! The… no one should have to hear those things. There were little kids there, man. What if any of them turn out not-straight? How would they feel know that’s the way people react? I heard enough of that bullshit from my Dad growing up and he didn’t even know. It’s a wonder I’m able to accept it now, even. So don’t-don’t tell me that I overreacted. Don’t you dare.”

“That’s all? You…” Cas is right up in his space now, and when Dean steps back he runs into the wall. “This is ridiculous.”

He really is very close, hands pressing hard into Dean’s chest, both of them still tense with slowly weakening fury. Dean can feel the other man’s breath on his lips.

“I can’t believe—”

And then Dean leans down and kisses Cas hard on the lips. He pulls back after a swift moment, shocked at himself, but then Cas is attacking his mouth hungrily. Tongues tangle and teeth clash until Cas pulls back to grumble, “You are infuriating, Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah well, right back atcha.” Dean gets enough leverage on Cas’ shoulders to switch their positions so Castiel is pressed against the wall. He whines when Dean presses a thigh firmly between Cas’ legs and rubs it right there. “Friggin’ hypocrite…”

“Dean shut uu—ah, god, Dean.” His head drops back against the wall with a thud.

Dean laves at his jawline, and suckles along to his ear, taking the lobe in his mouth and biting down possibly less gently than he should have. But Cas seems to like it, bucking hard against Dean, shifting so their cocks grind together though their pants. Dean drops his head to Cas’ shoulder at the sensation and Cas takes the opportunity to regain control. This time though, he pins Dean face first to the wall and steps forward to grind against his ass instead. Dean groans and lets out a string of expletives.

“Stay there,” Cas growls. Dean turns his head to the side so he can see where Cas is going, but doesn’t move any more than that. Cas methodically strips off all his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Is that…? The angle is bad, but Dean is sure that is a huge tattoo spanning Cas’ back. Before he can look too closely though, Cas pulls down his boxers to reveal his aching cock, and Dean is completely distracted. His eyes widen and he mutters, “Fuck me.”

Cas stills. “Are you sure, Dean?”

He hesitates. He’s never gone this far with a guy before, never more than handjobs or blowjobs in a back alley or a dive bar’s bathroom. He’s probably insane, but he wants this with Cas. “Yeah Cas, I’m really fucking sure, fuck, now get back here.”

 

Cas is scared. Of course he’s scared. There is so much heat, tension, bordering on too much. Dean is too much, doing things to his coherence and to his body that he hasn’t experienced in a long, long time. If ever. Possibly because Dean is so infuriating. It could also be do with the fact that he is practically rutting against the wall looking for some sort contact. 

Cas wants. He wants so badly.

He wastes no time in tugging Dean’s shirt over his head and arranging his arms against the wall, once more ordering him to stay still. Dean huffs and wiggles his hips. “Be patient,” Cas murmurs as he strokes down Dean’s sides. He reaches around and fumbles with the belt until it clinks free and he yanks down the jeans and boxers in one go.

Shit. Lube. Cas doesn’t have any. Why would he? “Dean, I need lube.”

“Top bedside drawer,” Dean says.

Practical Dean, always prepared.

 

Dean barely registers a moment and then Cas is back, pressing his body against Dean’s, his cock rubbing along Dean’s perineum and nudging at his balls, the way slicked with precome leaking from the Cas’ slit. Then two fingers are pressing right there against the tight muscles, just waiting for them to give way. When they slip inside, Dean is panting and gasping and repeating Cas’ name over and over like a litany. Immediately, Cas starts fucking them in roughly. Dean cries out and Cas pauses, but at the angry growl of “why the fuck did you stop goddammit Cas,” he continues with a brutal pace, striking Deans prostate every so often but mostly trying to avoid it. “Fuck. Cas Oh god I’m… Cas I’m close. Please just get in me already.” But he isn’t ready yet. So he reaches a hand around and grips hard at the base of Dean’s throbbing cock, holding him off. Dean whimpers and Cas presses a third finger inside him. He jerks in surprise and Cas fits his mouth to the sensitive space below Dean’s ear in an effort to distract him.

Finally Cas thinks he’s ready and draws his fingers out, slicking the extra lube over his cock. He turs Dean around to face him and all of a sudden Dean’s feet leave the ground as Cas hoists him up against the wall. Automatically, Dean wraps his legs around Cas’ waist for balance and support and he can feel Cas’ cock _right there_.

Cas pushes in slowly to start with, but at Dean’s panting encouragement, shoves in hard and fast. Dean chokes out a moan and Cas can barely contain his shout. And he is fully pressed into Dean, balls resting against his ass.

Dean can feel them slapping against his ass as Cas starts jerking shortly inside him, working up to longer, deeper thrusts.

Oh god. His dad was a fucking idiot. There is no way in hell, heaven or anywhere else, that this is wrong or degrading or—He moans brokenly as Cas slams hard into his prostate. Yeah he really needs to stop thinking about his Dad at a time like this. “Fuck Cas, yes. There.” But Cas doesn’t go near it again for several more thrusts. It’s driving Dean insane. “Please Cas, I need—” he begs, pressing his face into Cas’ neck and hiding his whimpers by sucking a hickey on the sweaty skin.

“I know what you need, Dean. Just wait. Just wait,” he grunts. Cas trails his free hand – the other one holding tightly around the base of Dean’s dick, staving off his orgasm – from where it was holding Dean’s shoulder, down over his pecks to pinch at his left nipple. Dean cries out and he could swear he would’ve come then if not for that infernal hand around him. All his muscles tighten and he feels Cas’ rhythm falter temporarily at the unexpected extra tightness. The shock also threw off Cas’ angle and aim, or maybe it was deliberate, because now he is pounding desperately into Dean’s prostate, hitting it on every stroke without fail. “Oh god Cas. Cas fuck please I can’t I can’t…”

“Yes you can Dean. You can. Just a bit longer.” And Cas stops with his long thrusts and starts grinding and rutting against him. “Soon Dean. Almost…” Dean tries to shove down more but Cas’ grip is too tight. And then Cas pulls almost all the way out, slamming back in harder than ever, and his fingers work dirty magic on against the left nipple still. Then his other hand finally _finally_ starts moving, stroking Dean. God he’s close. He’s so hard it almost hurts, but it’s so good. Too good. Suddenly Cas’ teeth latch onto his shoulder and he’s crying out, whole body tensing as he comes between them. Cas’ thrusts become erratic and Dean is crying out from the oversensitivity and the Cas is coming, his cock throbbing inside Dean as it empties.

He can’t feel anything in there to start with, but then Cas’ soft cock is slipping out and oh there it is. Warm sticky liquid leaking out of his ass and down his thighs.

Cas is still completely boneless against Dean, his weight and the wall the only thing keeping either of them upright.

“Holy fuck, Cas,” Dean gasps out.

Cas chuckles softly. “You’re the Angel, but close enough.”

Now though, Dean thinks the media got it all wrong. Dean ain’t an angel. Cas is the angel, all avenging and righteous like the real ones from the bible, the ones his mum told him stories about, who she said were watching over him before he went to sleep. Dean’s the one hunting down the evil sons of bitches who made sure he wouldn’t hear those stories past the age of four. Yeah, he never really considered it before but the media fucked up, man. The names aren’t of their choosing per se. the media mostly created them. To them, Dean is more like a saviour. More like the stereotypical image of an angel, not like the biblical version of righteous heavenly fury. Though there is a bit of that there too. And Cas is more harsh, like the typical version. He hunts people and things down. He’s less forgiving and stuff…

“How very observant of you, Dean, given your state.” Oh woops. That was out loud. He did not mean for that to happen. He chuckles softly, too blissed out to care particularly.

“Bed?” he mumbles.

“Bed sounds good,” Cas replies. He pulls away, easing Dean back to the floor where he staggers, and goes to the bathroom for a cloth to clean them up. When he gets back, Dean is sprawled out on the bed half asleep already.

“Dean.” Cas nudges him. “Dean, you should get cleaned up.” Dean just grunts and doesn’t move. Cas sighs and does it himself, being more tender than he was the whole time they were having sex.

He tosses the wash cloth (or was it a hand towel?) to the ground and curls up next to Dean, slinging an arm across his body. Dean grumbles once he’s settled, “I still hate you.”

“Hate you too, Dean.”

 

* * * * *

 

Dean wakes up to the late afternoon light weakly filtering into the room. He’s still stark naked but when he reaches over, the bed is cold.

Cas. He had sex with Cas. Oh shit. He flops onto his back and winces slightly. He was completely sober and he just had sex with his sworn enemy. 

Not his sworn enemy. Not anymore. Not really. He wouldn’t say he likes the guy, but he’s not too bad.

The door bleeps then, and Cas shuffles in with three bags of Chinese takeout and—is that two DVDs jammed under his chin?

“They had two movies called Ocean’s Eleven, Dean. I wasn’t sure which you meant, so I got both…”

Dean huffs and a smile pulls at his lips. Yeah. Not so bad at all.

The rest of the night is completely unproductive. Well, in terms of the job. They sit close on the bed – so they can both reach the food, of course – and watch both movies. Then they watch the more recent one again because Cas insists that “I’ll understand it this time Dean, I swear, I just need to see it one more time.” Dean grumbles but really he finds it adorable that Cas is so into it.

He still nudges Dean every few minutes to ask what is going on.

As the credits are rolling at the end of the original though, Dean feels a weight on his shoulder. Cas is slumped over, fast asleep and almost snoring.

Dean snorts and shifts carefully so he can lay Cas down properly. “Alright you heathen. Can’t stay awake to appreciate quality cinema. Fine.” He pulls the blankets up around Cas’ neck, strips down to his boxers and climbs in too.

 

* * * * *

 

When Dean wakes up the next morning, it’s to a blaring generic ringtone. Cas is already scrambling off the bed after his pants, which must contain his phone.

Cas answers in a rough morning voice, even deeper than usual. “What do you want, Balthazar?” He almost sounds petulant.

There is a soft murmuring through the phone which Dean can’t pick out, Cas says, “Thank you,” and there’s a little more murmuring.

Cas rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Piss off, Balthazar. Find a hobby.” Louder, almost intelligible words are cut off abruptly when Cas hangs up.

Dean drags himself over to the kitchen as Cas stays planted on the floor, frowning. “Bad news?”

Cas grimaces. “No. Balthazar is just a child with too much time on his hands.” 

When he isn’t forthcoming with any more of an explanation, Dean shrugs and moves on. “So, good news then?”

“Possibly. Alistair officially arrives back in L.A. for this part of his campaign on Tuesday. That’s what the press, the public, even half his employees think. But he actually returns on Monday evening. Not sure why.”

“Attending to some ‘business’ probably.”

“Yes, that is what I was thinking.”

They both pause, considering ways they could use this information to help them. Dean finishes making coffee and his thoughts start to drift a little.

“Man how do you have so much pull? I haven’t gotten close to this sort of information in all the years me and Dad have been looking.”

“But you were looking for Azazel. He is only a minion, not publically known like Alistair. He can disappear and no one will notice. If I’m honest, I am starting to believe even Alistair isn’t the ‘top dog’.”

“Wait, what the fuck are you talking about? Of course he is. He’s the one your boss wants us to take down.”

“He is just the face of the organisation. He runs their ‘reputable’ businesses.” Again with the air quote marks. “Someone else is behind it all. He doesn’t do much personally, but every important decision Alistair makes goes though him.”

“Who is it then?!” Dean is getting agitated and exasperated. How has he not known this? How come Cas never mentioned it before?

“My brother. Lucifer.”

Dean almost spits out his drink. “Lucifer?! Your brother’s name is Lucifer??”

Cas grimaces. “Yes. It is an uncomfortably fitting name for him, actually…”

“Wait, and he’s the one behind all of this shit? Every single thing that we have been fighting against is because of him?”

“Yes.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes Dean, are you feeling okay, your hearing appears to be impaired.”

“Sorry. Sorry. Right. Um. So why are we trying to get Alistair then? Why not go for Lucifer?”

“Because we were hired to destroy Alistair and his credibility in every sector. Not his whole enterprise. And because we can’t get to Lucifer without getting to Alistair. Alistair is the only link we have to find him. Luke returned from Iraq about eight months ago and didn’t go back. It was a big deal around some ex-military circles. And then he just disappeared. I don’t know if it’s because he knew I would come for him or what, but he was gone.”

“Wait, but if your brother is running things… Cas, man, my parents got caught up in shit before I was born. No way could Lucy have been doing that sort of level back then.”

“Well, my theory is that Alistair or possibly a woman called Lilith – she’s dead now, by the way, don’t worry about her – trained him, tutored him, inducted him. And then he surpassed them with his horrible evil genius, and took over the whole operation. I didn’t pay much attention to the news before, but when I started looking into Alistair, I had the strangest feeling I’d met him before. I had dismissed it, until last week when Gabriel sent me this. It’s from almost fifteen years ago.” Cas holds out his phone, and on it is a picture of a much younger Alistair, his arm around a youth bearing with blonde hair and cold eyes. “Luke was sixteen in this picture.”

Dean is silent, contemplating and concentrating for a long while. When he eventually speaks again, it is just to say, “Well shit man.”

They both sit quietly, processing. Dean just going over the new information, while Cas is struggling to deal with the fact that he just spilled a whole plethora of secrets all over the lap of someone he is supposed to hate. But shit he really doesn’t. He doesn’t hate Dean at all. Not for a while now, he realises.

Dean is twitching now, fidgeting. He looks slightly nervous, like he isn’t sure if he should day something. “Hey uh, Cas?”

“Yes Dean?” Cas braces for the worst.

“Is… was Lucifer… The other week, you had a… a dream and you said something about your brother…”

Oh no. Of course Dean would pick up on that. Of course he would put the pieces together. He is intelligent like that. A good problem solver. A quick thinker. He hates the nervousness in Dean’s voice, too contrary to his usual cocky confidence.

Castiel sighs, suddenly exhausted. He just nods in response, not trusting himself to speak.


	5. Chapter 5

“We need to get into that lower level.”

“Agreed.”

“My friend said she can have the keycards done by Monday at the earliest. So if we go then, we run the risk of Alistair being there. Since he’ll be in the city secretly, no one will know exactly where he is supposed to be.”

“We could take him out, then.”

“The job is to destroy his reputation, not kill him, Dean. We can’t get caught. Murder tends to draw attention.”

“So does breaking into a famous guy’s office building. If he catches us at all, we’re screwed. And he could be there any time once he’s back, anyway. If we catch him there on Monday night, when he’s not even meant to be in the city, in a secret lair with whatever the hell is down there, that’s gonna destroy his reputation as is.”

Cas purses his lips, unwilling to accept the logic in Dean’s reasoning.

“Look, we go Monday, stay out of sight if he’s even there, and have a backup escape planned in case things go apeshit. How does that sound?”

Cas glares, but Dean can see him wavering. “Come on Cas, you know there’s no other way.”

“We could go on a different day!”

“And he could still be there anyway! We need to know what’s down there so we can get this damn job done. It’s the only lead we’ve got left at the moment. There has to be plans for that level somewhere, you can’t just build something, especially underground, without a plan, even if they aren’t publically available. If they’re out there, she’ll find them.”

Cas tries to resist, but it’s futile. They both know this way makes the most sense. They’ve been pouring over every scrap of information either of them has ever collected on Alistair, Azazel and Lucifer all day. This is it. He pushes his chair back viciously and throws his arms up. “Fine. We’ll do it. Call your friend.”

Dean smirks behind Cas’ back as he pulls out his phone. He’s finally one-upping the Hunter on the job.

“What’s up, handmaiden?” Charlie greets him.

“Hey Charlie, I need a favour.” Cas turns sharply.

“Sure thing, Dean. What can your queen do for you?”

Cas tries to interrupt, whispering, “Who is that? Dean who are you talking to?” But Dean ignores him.

“I need some building plans. But they aren’t in the public archive. You know Letum’s building in the CBD, it’s got a secret basement. Anything you can get would be great.”

“Yep, Letum’s… wait. Dean, that’s—Are you racing the Hunter for this or something?”

Dean frowns. “What the fuck Charlie, how do you know the Hunter’s on this too?”

“…Because he’s getting me to make him a swipecard to get into the employee only areas of the same building.”

Dean rounds on Cas, face tight. “I’ll tell you all about it later, Charlie.”

“Dean wait—” he hangs up.

“Charlie is your contact?”

“Apparently we have some mutual friends.”

“And you didn’t think to maybe mention that to me?!” Dean spits furiously.

“It is not like I knew either, Dean! And does it really matter, since we’re actually working together on this?!”

“Maybe this time, but what about all the other times, huh?”

Cas rolls his eyes so hard Dean’s surprised they don’t fall right out of his head. “Does it matter?! It’s in the past. Now, can we focus on our _current_ job? Please?”

Dean fumes for a few more minutes, but eventually drops back into his chair. “Fine. Whatever. Not like we’re friends or anything. Don’t have to share every damn detail about our lives.”

 

* * * * *

 

Everything is going perfectly, until it isn’t.

They collected the stuff off Charlie, got into the secret elevator without a hitch, and have a secondary escape route planned through a corridor that leads to the parking lot under the shopping centre next door. It makes sense really, now they know what’s down there. Store rooms filled with drugs, a bunch of different types. They’d need a sort of loading zone to get it all down there and the carpark is the perfect inconspicuous location to be dropping off boxes of anything.

In addition to the storerooms full of various illegal drugs, there are rooms filled with paperwork. Many of the papers are signed by Lucifer as well, confirming Cas’ fears.

And… there’s a whole corridor of rooms filled with equipment, much of it resembling what Dean remembers seeing in the warehouse. Equipment used for torture.

Dean feels ill just looking at it. He walks passed that area swiftly and Cas shoots him a knowing and reassuring smile, before taking a few pictures on his phone. They both enabled location detection so all the pictures have a geostamp and there will be no refuting where they came from.

Dean moves on and takes picture of some of the more incriminating documents he finds, and the rooms, and the drugs too. Anything, really.

They both keep a careful watch out, but there is no sight or sound of Alistair.

Once they’re done, Cas takes some of the explosives in Dean’s pack, and they separate, rigging the devices to strategic locations in the building’s frame. They don’t want to level the building, but they have to destroy the floor. The police will think it’s all planted by Alistair’s opposition so even if they told them, it would do them no good. It might even result in all the evidence being buried by corrupt officers or Republican supporters.

“Dean!” Dean is just rounding the corner when Cas calls from down the hall. “I’m done, come on.”

“Yeah yeah, send that message and I’ll set up the trigger.” The trigger is meant to detonate the explosives when someone exits the elevator on this floor.

“Dean…”

“What is it, Cas?”

He’s pale as a sheet and just holds out his phone. A text on it reads, _I know. Come upstairs and we can talk about this._

“He knows? He knew the whole time?!”

“Apparently…” Cas’ voice shakes.

“What do we…”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Cas…”

“I don’t know!” he shouts.

“Okay. Okay, Cas. I’m done with the rig. There’s one free pass programmed if we need to get out this way. Let’s go upstairs and see what he wants. Come on.” He places his hand in the small of Cas’ back and guides him to the elevator.

 

Alistair is waiting for them, leaning nonchalantly against his desk. He would look normal, if it wasn’t for the gun hanging loosely in his hand.

“Well, well, well. Bevis and Butthead.” Fuck, his voice. Dean flinches back on instinct. 

Cas doesn’t look at him, doesn’t break eye contact with Alistair, but Dean sees his shoulder tense imperceptibly. Protective. Huh.

“Long time, no see, Dean. How’s it hanging?”

Dean feels his stomach churn and he wants to throw up.

“See. You boys have been a bit naughty. Those pictures could be very damaging.” He draws the words out slowly, like he’s scolding children.

“To you, maybe,” Dean scoffs, trying not to be totally cowed by the monster before him.

Alistair tilts his head. “Well. I hear Lucifer Novak has been looking for you, Castiel, for a very long time…”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean growls, stepping forward in front of a trembling Cas, all his fear forgotten.

Then there’s a gun pointing right into his face. “You might want to stop there.” 

Dean fumes and keeps looking right at Alistair, ignoring the gun.

“How sweet! Our own little love story going on right here. Who’d’ve thought it, hm? Wouldn’t it be _tragic_! Enemies, colleagues, _lovers_ , all that history, such a future, only to have it snatched away with the pull of a trigger…” Alistair clicks off the safety and the next moment is just a blur of motion.

Cas pushes Dean out of the way, drawing his blade at the same time and slashing at Alistair. A bang as the gun fires and Dean falls to the floor. All the sound in the room fades to the rush of blood pounding in Dean’s ears and in his shoulder. He can see the other men fighting and then there’s a spray of red and Alistair’s body drops to the floor. 

All the sound rushes back in as blood gushes from a gaping slit in his throat. Cas is hunched over, holding his gut and panting.

“Cas, Cas are you alright?” Dean struggles to sit up and finds himself feeling dizzy all of a sudden.

Cas looks up and his expression turns shocked. “Dean, you…” He drops to his knees at Dean’s side and immediately pulls off his jacket and presses it to Dean’s shoulder. 

And that’s when the pain floods back. “Ah, fuck!” The bullet didn’t miss at all.

“Come on, Dean, we have to get you out of here.” And then he’s being pulled up and his shoulder is screaming but Cas is pulling him along.

 

They are met on the ground floor by people yelling outside and a million flashing lights. They huddle back against the wall, out of sight.

“SWAT, FBI, cops,” Dean gasps. “Cas, we’re fucking screwed.”

“We know you’re in there,” someone on a loudspeaker calls, trying for calm but failing. “Come out and we won’t shoot.”

“You lower your weapons and we’ll lower ours,” Cas shouts back.

“Cas, they have snipers, the laser lights are at the wrong angle for men on the ground,” Dean murmurs in his ear.

“Fuck. Okay.” He looks around. “Okay. When I tell you, run for the doors we came out of last time, they’re closer.”

“Cas what are you—”

Cas steps out of hiding. He has Alistair's gun held out to the side, non-threatening.

"Cas, seriously what the fuck?!" 

"Lower your weapon, sir," the voice on the loudspeaker repeats. 

Cas starts to bend sideways to put the gun on the floor. Then in a move Dean barely catches, he spins and shoots out all three of the massive front windows. "Dean, go!" 

Dean runs. The broken glass temporarily blinds everyone outside, and then distracts them as it rains down, flashing red and blue like some weird disco shower.

Cas makes it to the door an instant before Dean and holds it open for him, before they take off to the elevator together, still sprinting. Neither knows if the people outside are going to follow them in or not, so they just have to get out of there. No time to reset the device.

Along the hall, through more doors and more hallways and then they finally stumble through the door to the carpark. They pause momentarily to catch their breath and Dean takes a moment to pull Cas' jacket away. He hisses as the fabric pulls at already drying blood and cool air hits the open wound. It's still oozing, Cas' jacket turning a deep red. 

"Shit..." he mutters. 

Cas eyes it warily as well, then asks, "Can you keep going? We need to get as far from here as possible."

Dean takes another gasping breath before replying, "Yeah. Yeah, let's..." He gives up on talking. Too much effort. He just sets off across the lot towards the back where an exit leads to an alley that should be clear. 

 

Thankfully, it is. But just as they're making their way out on to a normal street several blocks over, a distant rumble shakes the ground. 

Dean freezes. Those were SWAT guys. Or FBI. Or maybe cops. They just... Oh god, they died. They died because of him. 

Cas notices Dean stop. He must see the look of horror on his face because immediately he turns Dean to face him and says, “This was not our fault. Those men were just doing their job. This is because of Alistair. Alistair is the one who needs to pay. And he has.”

“You know that’s bullshit, Cas! If we hadn’t tried this. If we hadn’t been here tonight, they would never have had reason to get out of bed. They would never have been called in. They would never have walked into a building rigged to blow the moment someone touched that floor. This—” Dean gestures to the flames just visible streets over, “this would never have happened.” Dean stops is pacing right up in Cas’ personal space, poking him with his finger harshly. “And now they’re after you.”

“I only did what was necessary to get us out alive.” 

“That is complete bullshit. It’s bullshit, Cas!” Dean pushes Cas roughly back into the wall. “You almost got caught with that shit. What the hell do you think you were doing?”

Cas pushes himself back up and right into Dean’s personal space. “What else was I supposed to do then?”

“They had fucking snipers on us. You could’ve died, you son of a bitch.”

“I did it for you, Dean!" he shouts. "They have my picture. I will be hunted, not you. I rebelled and I did it all for you.”

“What?! What does that even— You know what, fuck you. I didn’t ask to be saved or whatever the hell you think that was. It was a fucking stupid stunt and now you gotta take the fall for it and there’s nothing I can do to help you!”

“Why would you want to?! I thought we weren’t friends! The job’s done now. You’re free! You’re free of me! Why do you care?!” There. It’s finally out. There is no hiding the pain in his voice as he shouts back at Dean. The way his voice cracks.

Dean is stunned into silence, stopping his violent pacing to stare. “Cas… h- how could… how could you think that?” he stutters.

“You said it to me yourself. We’re just colleagues. Just another good fuck when we’re horny and have no one else to go to. We don’t mean anything to each other. You don’t care about me. Then explain to me Dean, why you care so fucking much about me having my face out there. My face being known, me having to go into hiding!”

“Because I’m not worth it!”

“But you are worth it, you piece of shit!” Cas shouts back. He’s had it. He is fucking done with Dean Winchester’s god awful self-hatred and self-esteem issues. He is done with it. “Because you are fucking worth it, you idiot. Dean…”

"Cas, don't..." 

"But—" 

"I said no, Cas! Leave it!" He spares one last glance back to where they came from. "Come on. Let's get out of here."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for more porn and also small torture scene: from "Dean tries to exclaim..." skip to "Cops burst into the room"

Cas spends the day out. Dean doesn’t know where. He said something about reconnaissance, news… something. He was still half asleep at the time.

Nothing has changed in the last few days. Just more of Cas' face being flashed all over the TV, labelled as armed an dangerous. They know he's the Hunter, too. There's stories about the brutal murder of Alistair Letum, the images Cas released to the media the next day, the explosion in the middle of the city and the names of the officers who died. Dean always turns it off at that point. He feels sick to the stomach just thinking about it. Or maybe that's the infection Cas is worried might be setting in. 

There are some other stories too. Who was his accomplice, the mysterious 'Dean'? Yesterday, there was footage from a security cam of the day they had the appointment with Meg Masters, and most media channels are confident that they are one and the same. Just this morning, there was speculation that Dean is in fact the Angel. Was this another of their 'games'? "After all, there has been no activity from the Angel in over a month," one anchor reasoned. 

Dean hates how close to the truth they all are. 

He sits at the table and tries to figure a way out of this whole mess, but the alcohol he promised Cas he wouldn't touch, the painkillers, and all the pain they don’t kill, makes his brain fuzzy and he doesn’t get much of anything done.

“Dean?” Something ghosts down his back. Dean starts awake and jerks around, dislodging the hand and causing its owner to grunt in pain. “Dean! It’s just me. It’s just me,” the voice soothes. It's a calming voice, deep. He knows it… Cas. Shit. Of course.

He blinks the sleep and alcohol-induced fuzziness out of his eyes and squints up at the man hovering with a hand awkwardly outstretched towards him. “Cas?”

Cas sighs in relief. “Yes. I’m back.”

“Hey,” Dean mumbles sleepily.

“It’s late, you should be in bed.”

“It’s late. Where were you?” Somehow, his sleep-addled mind manages to find one single thing to say. Albeit, something that has been bothering Dean all evening. But maybe now isn’t the best time to bring it up.

“That is none of your concern, Dean. You’re injured and in pain, Dean. Lie down somewhere that won’t further jeopardise your health.”

“Yeah yeah,” Dean passes off as he riffles though the pile of grotty clothes on the arm chair looking for something clean enough to wear to bed. He can practically feel the eye roll as Cas turns away. That man has enough sass to rival Harry Potter, Dean swears.

“I need to shower,” Cas finally says in a clipped tone. Dean doesn’t deign to reply.

 

* * * * *

 

Dean is woken once again by movement about their tiny room. “Oh for the love of fuck, Cas. You wanted me to sleep then fuckin’ be quiet. God.” Half the words probably get lost in the pillow still covering most of Dean’s face. “Need my four hours man. Can you just give me that, please? For once…”

“My apologies, Dean. I had no intention of waking you,” Cas whispers, even though there’s really no need now that Dean is conscious.

“Whatever. Just get in here and sleep too man. If we gotta go on the run tomorrow, we needa be rested up.”

“Of course Dean, in a moment. Go back to sleep. You need your rest.”

“Well, I was sleeping. You’re the ass who woke me up,” Dean grumbles as he rolls into a more upright position, careful not to put too much strain on his shoulder. “Wait. What the fuck are you doing?” The dim lamplight picks out Cas’ pale face, and pale hands, and the metallic catches on the backpack in his grip. Dean’s eyes shoot wide. Clothes are poking out, shoved haphazardly inside, like he was rushing to be done and… “Don’t tell me you’re leaving.”

“Dean—”

“No shut up, Cas. Don’t you dare.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. It’s for the best.”

“Best for who?!”

“Both of us, Dean! You need to go to a hospital. This way, you won’t get arrested at the same time.”

“Oh, screw that, Cas. I don’t—”

“Yes you do! And don’t you fucking try to tell me you don’t because I have been watching you. Some days aren’t as bad but the trend is that you are getting worse, not better.”

“How do you know I won’t be arrested if I go? Because from what I remember,” he spits, “Every paper for the last four days has been broadcasting how we’re working together. That we are a ‘thing’, whatever that means. They have footage of us together outside Alistair’s building, interacting, being a fucking couple. We know that was fake but they don’t. How the fuck will that go away?”

Cas rubs a hand across his face tiredly. “Check your phone. There should be a news alert from the cop tracker.”

Dean squints in confusion, but follows the instructions, fumbling a little in his tiredness and from the pain that shoots across his chest when too much weight is put on his injury as he leans over to the bedside. He lets out an involuntary gasp and Cas makes an aborted movement towards him. “Dean are you…”

“I’m fine. Just peachy.” Cas presses his lips into a thin line. “What am I looking for ag—oh.” His thumb flicks up and down as he reads the article. Then the video auto plays. 

The presenter’s voice babbles a little about the backstory, then cuts to, “and in breaking news, in the early hours of the evening, the Los Angeles Police Department received a video from one of the suspects.” And then… shit. Cas’ face, blurry but obviously him appears on the little screen, and his voice comes through the tinny speakers. “You have my picture, so you know who I am. I know you suspect the man known as The Angel is assisting me with this crime but I can assure you he was not involved. Our history is well-known, and only a desperate person of feeble mind would believe for long that I would stoop to work with such a man. That footage you have?" Video-Cas scoffs. "Please. It could be anyone. I like a little challenge, so if you really want to find me, come get me you little bastards.” Cas’ face on the screen freezes and the reporter lady’s voiceover kicks back in. “This video was dropped off at the 12th precinct late last night. Speculation says that The Hunter himself walked up to the door to do it…”

Dean is silent. Out loud, and in his head. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what just happened. This is just so completely… He stares at the screen some more, not listening to what else is being said. He stares and Cas’ eyes… They’re not really his. Sure, they’re the same unnatural shade of blue, they are his eyes, but they’re totally empty. Dead and hollow. So different from the damp ones still focused solely on Dean, so full of sadness and regret. Pleading with him, silently begging Dean to let him do this.

“Dammit, Cas.” Dean throws the phone back on his bedside now that the lady has stopped rambling and he is snapped out of his stupor. Cas doesn’t reply, knowing Dean well enough that nothing he says will make anything better. "You really think you telling them I'm not me is gonna make them believe you? Won't it just make them more suspicious?"

"It might not. The metaphorical gauntlet has been thrown to the police. The media will eat it up." 

Dean purses his lips. It's stupid, but maybe there's a tiny chance it'll work... He changes the subject without admitting it though. “When were you gonna tell me, then?” Cas shuffles awkwardly and avoids making eye contact. “You weren’t, were you? Not part of your plan, then? Just gonna ditch while I'm asleep. Sneak out without any explanation and let me wake up in the morning and wonder what the fuck happened until I saw it on the news? Well fuck you, Cas. Seriously just fuck you.” Dean’s voice quickly escalates to all out shouting. “I didn’t sign up for any of this bullshit.

“Dean, I am sorry. I really am.”

Dean huffs, shaking his head and looking away.

Cas continues, “I don’t want to go. Believe me, nothing would please me more than staying here with you.”

“Then stay,” Dean pleads. He practically begs. Dean never begged for anything in his life, never pleaded for anything, not for himself. But for Cas, he will. He has. Cas makes him want things. Want things so desperately, he lowers himself to this level, to beg. Castiel instilled The Angel with faith, made him pray for the first time.

“What’s done is done, Dean. I have to go.”

“Just for the night. Just a few more hours. You… you should sleep before you go. So you aren’t tired.” It’s a last-ditch effort. Just a little longer. Because he is selfish and greedy and if he can get just another few hours, just one more good night’s sleep, then he’s damn well gonna try.

Cas hesitates. He glances around the room, and stares at his hands, flips over the hand still gripping the backpack. He makes eye contact with Dean just barely before his eyes flick away. Dean slides out of bed and walks over until he’s right in front of Cas. So close just leaning would cause them to touch. He keeps direct eye contact the entire time he reaches down and takes the bag from Cas’ hand and drops it on the floor at the end of the bed. “Just for the night, Cas. Please.”

Cas takes a shaky breath in and nods jerkily. “Okay. Okay. But I have to go in the morning.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean smiles sadly. 

Cas reaches up and brushes his fingers over the hair around Dean’s ear. He leans into the touch and exhales sharply. “Cas…”

Cas’ reply is only to lean up and pull Dean’s head down at the same time, until their lips meet. It’s so tender, Dean can feel his heart shattering. He’s treating him as though he might break. God it almost hurts. Dean pushes in closer, deepens the kiss. Cas gasps against his mouth and Dean takes the opportunity to sneak his tongue into the other man’s mouth. Cas moans softly at the feeling and pushes back. His hands trail gently down Dean’s neck, carefully avoiding his wounded shoulder, and make their way down to his chest. And he pushes Dean away. Not far enough that he can no longer feel the heat radiating off Cas’ body, but enough to break contact. “Dean are you…?”

“Yeah man.” He disentangles his hands from where they’re gripping Cas’ hair and sweep them down to the base of his neck, on the collar of his shirt. He flips it up and loosens the uneven tie Cas had, as usual, put on backwards. Before removing it, Dean uses the tails to pull him close again. Cas’ hands move to the back of Dean’s neck, playing with the soft hair there.

Meanwhile, Dean has dropped the tie to the floor and his fingers are now dancing down the front of Cas’ shirt, undoing each button as he goes and mouthing at the corner of his jaw. Cas tilts his head to the side to let Dean closer and actually whines. Dean smirks and pushes the shirt down Cas’ arms. 

Instead of returning to Dean’s neck, Cas puts his hands to Dean’s hips and pushes him back towards the bed. When the backs of his legs hit the edge, he stumbles and grunts, sitting down hard. Cas hangs back and takes off his pants. Not showy or anything. Just quick and functional. 

Dean scrambles back on to the bed properly and waits. 

Cas is on him in an instant, straddling Dean and pressing him back into the pillows. He leans down, teasing, just ghosting his mouth over Dean’s mouth, jawline, neck. His thumbs trace across his nipples and Dean surges upwards, arching instinctively, always sensitive there. Cas takes the opportunity to grind down, rubbing their boxer-clad cocks together. Dean inhales sharply and almost whines again. “Oh god. Cas. These,” he fiddles with the waistband of Cas’ boxers, “they have to come off. Now.” Cas just nods and lets Dean draw them down, so slowly. The moment he’s free and kicking them across the room, Dean rubs his palm over Cas’ hard cock, making Cas drop his head and gasp out Dean’s name while he thrusts minutely against the pressure.

“Dean. You… you too,” he huffs. He pulls away with difficulty, sitting back on his heels as Dean lifts his hips to make it easier to remove his own boxers, which soon follow Cas’ to the floor.

Cas presses soft kisses to his cock before taking him into his mouth. He sucks softly for just a few moments before pulling off. Dean chokes and pants, “Cas, oh god please. Don’t stop. Don’t…”

Cas pulls off and trails his mouth lower, lower, suckling at Dean’s balls and pressing his tongue against the sensitive skin below his hole. Dean cries out, his hands gripping in the sheets one second, pulling on Cas’ hair the next, unable to stay still, unsure of what to do.

He only spends a few more minutes down there before sliding back up to be face to face with Dean. They both are panting now. This will be over way sooner than either of them want if Cas keeps going like this.

“Dean. Can I… do you want…” One of Cas’ thumbs presses against that ring of muscle while the other strokes gently over Dean’s right nipple.

“Yes. God yes. Please Cas,” Dean groans out. Cas nods and takes both hands away while he reaches for the lube in the bedside and squeezes some onto his fingers.

Carefully, oh so carefully, he presses one finger into Dean’s body. None of their usual roughness is apparent here. It is all gentle and so caring. And… man he can’t think of the word right now. Not when-oh god-Cas is using his other hand to rub across Dean’s chest, favouring his nipples alternatively with little licks and nibbles.

Finally, Dean’s hands find their place, against Cas’ back, tracing over the wing tattoos which Dean has almost memorised by now, after the last few days of using it as a distraction when he couldn't sleep. He is so caught up in all the other sensations that when Cas presses a second and then a third finger in, he barely registers it at first. And then Cas is stretching him out, scissoring him, preparing him. 

Dean’s eyes are fluttering, struggling to stay open. He can’t help all the little gasps that are escaping now. The sensations are almost too much. “Cas, now. I'm good. I'm ready.”

Cas nods and leans up to press a tender kiss to his forehead. He pulls his fingers out to coat his cock with lube and covers Dean’s mouth with his own to swallow the disappointed whine he makes at the emptiness. And then. And then Cas’ cock is pressing against his hole, rubbing a little before slowly sinking in.

Dean’s eye squeeze shut and his body tenses slightly. “Fuck. Ah. Cas. God, you’re so good. Nng.”

“Just relax, Dean,” Cas whispers, his voice hoarse, rubbing Dean’s side with one hand while he threads the fingers of the other between Dean’s own. “I’ve got you.” And then he’s bottoming out, fully seated against Dean’s ass. 

He pulls out just as slowly and sinks back in. Cas can’t help his own groan this time. “You’re so good Dean, so tight. You're beautiful. God...” He huffs. 

“Cas… Cas please. Come on…” Dean urges. Cas wants to go faster, he wants… god Dean is so tight… But he doesn’t want to hurt him. He speeds up just slightly. Unable to help himself in light of Dean’s pleas. Dean is biting his lip now, trying to hold back. He is gorgeous. 

With his arms now bracketing Dean’s head, Cas leans down to kiss him once more, changing the angle. Cas knows he must’ve got it just right, because Dean yelps and arches his back violently, clenching down and trying to take even more of Cas into his body.

“Dean!”

“Fuck, come on, Cas,” Dean groans.

And Cas does. He pulls out and slams back in hard, striking Dean’s prostrate on every thrust now. Dean isn’t even trying to stay quiet now. His head is thrown back and he’s panting and moaning and gasping under Cas’ touch and slow but firm rhythm.

“Cas I’m… I'm close. I'm almost…” he grips Cas’ hair hard and yanks him down for a kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy and gasping and Cas’ body goes rigid, speed faltering and Dean feels his release filling him up. He continues to make short little jerks into Dean, right against his prostate, until Dean too is spilling over across their stomachs with a long sigh of “Caaaasss.”

Cas stays where he is for several moments while they both catch their breath. Every so often he will make small shifting and jerking motions in involuntarily, causing Dean’s hole to flutter around him.

Eventually, Cas pulls out and staggers to the bathroom, returning with a warm damp washcloth to clean them both up. He does Dean first, carefully and gently wiping all the jizz off his stomach and from between his legs where it is leaking out of his hole. Then he cleans himself quickly and efficiently and tosses the cloth onto the floor with their boxers and lays down next to Dean.

He leans over where Dean is still lying prone on his back, overwhelmed, and presses a soft kiss to his temple while stroking a hand through his hair. Loving. That’s the word he couldn’t remember before. Loving. That realisation is terrifying. Cas is treating him lovingly. Like he means something. More than a colleague, more than a good fuck or even a good friend. This is… 

“Stop overthinking everything, Dean,” Cas murmurs. “Just sleep.” And he’s laying back onto the pillow, away from Dean. No. No don’t go. Not even that far. The loss shocks Dean into a slow motion, rolling onto his side and seeking out Cas’ mouth with his own. When he finds it, he presses every emotion he can into it. Every feeling he has right now, the fear and anger and wretched sadness at what tomorrow holds. What tomorrow will take from him. He isn’t ashamed of the tears that roll down his cheek now. Cas just takes it in his stride, brushing them away with his thumb and running his fingers through Dean’s hair.

When he starts to lose his breath and the angle hurts his neck, Dean pulls back and settles against Cas’ chest, an arm slung over him, holding him close like it’ll stop him from leaving in a few hours. Both of Cas’ arms find their way around Dean and clasp him just as tight, one thumb still rubbing soothingly over the now fading remnants of the handprint bruise he put there weeks ago.

 

Dean is woken in the morning by hands roughly pulling him upright. Something is tied around his head, gagging him, and the hands are now wrapping a rope around his wrists. “Best be quiet Dean, wouldn’t want anyone to walk in now would we?”

“Cas??!” Dean tries to exclaim around the fabric shoved in his mouth. “Mmf- C-sss uuhhhh.” What the actual fuck is going on? Has Cas lost his mind?!

He drags Dean over to the desk chair and wraps more rope around him, binding him tightly to it. 

He then pulls the chair into the middle of the room, pointed at a tripod with a camera set up on it. He presses a few buttons and then starts meandering around Dean, always in view of the camera.

“Now, I’ve heard that some people don’t believe me. Well. Funny thing about me, I have a desperate and possibly clinical need to prove myself. Enjoy. He flashes a disturbing, empty smile at the camera before wandering over, ever so slowly to remove the gag from Dean’s mouth. “Are you going to be a good boy for me, Deano?” Deano…

Dean glares. Castiel slaps him hard across the face. “You should show me some respect, Deano. I pulled you out of that hell Alistair had you in. I can throw you back in.”

Finally the gag is out, and Dean sees it’s Cas’ tie, that he left on the end of the bed just last night. Something about the sight of that tie, something that represents before whatever the hell this nightmare is, jerks him back to proper awareness, where before he’d been almost catatonic.

“What the fuck is going on Cas? What are you doing?”

Cas picks up his blade and starts tracing over all the marks Alistair left on Dean's body. “I played you, Dean. It wasn’t real. You weren’t recruited. I needed you and made up a story.

Dean shakes his head, eyes huge and panic-stricken. “You lied," he whispers. "Everything. It was all a lie. No no it can’t have been.” It can’t. All those moments, little moments, quiet ones with soft smiles and burgers and storms and nightmares in dark. Surely it can’t all have been fake, could it? Then Dean feels the blade cut into the flesh of his belly. God but Dean has always been a soft gullible bastard. A total idiot and he let himself get played as usual.

He grits his teeth and tries not to cry out as Cas makes more and more marks on his skin, but it gets more difficult every second. It feels like they're burning. The longer it goes on, the deeper they get, until at a particularly vicious swipe down his sternum, he screams.

Cas chuckles. "Look how the Angel has fallen."

Dean blinks away the water in his eyes and scowls darkly at him. “Cas, I just want you to know, I hate you. Really and with every ounce of my being I despise you and everything about you.” Dean growls out with every ounce of venom he can muster. Then he spits at Cas’ feet. A coagulation of blood and saliva. Cas eyes it with distaste, carefully laying down the knife, and then pulls a pistol off the basin.

“Get ready for the grand final folks. It’s going to be a cracker.” He smirks evilly and rounds on Dean, making sure to keep them both in the camera’s view. Right at the last second before he pulls the trigger, Dean sees him mouth two words, out of sight of the recording. “I’m sorry.” Then there’s a bang, a sharp pain in his chest that blossoms out until he can’t feel anything else. It’s too much, too much. Right where Alistair shot him just a few days ago. Before he sees what Cas does next, he’s blacking out and lost to the darkness.

 

Cops burst into the room while Dean is still unconscious. One, Kevin, is new and stops dead at the sight. “Oh shit...”

To be fair, the others only take a cursory glance around the room before they stop and stare as well. Most of them start murmuring to each other. 

“It’s him." 

"That’s the guy the Hunter was torturing." 

"He’s the Angel?" 

"Apparently…"

It's Captain Turner's harsh voice that brings them all back to themselves. "Oi, stop ogling the poor sod, clear the place. Kev get the EMTs up here with a stretcher," Rufus orders. 

They scramble to follow his orders looking sheepish, clearing the rest of the room and marking out evidence. 

Rufus himself checks for a pulse, and then upon finding it, undoes the knots that have rubbed raw against the man’s wrists and forearms and ankles. He’s in a bad way and there’s a lot of blood on the floor from the bullet wound in his shoulder. Knife is on the table, tie still in the ground. Tripod pushed back against the opposite wall.

The EMTs arrive shortly after and gently lift the man up onto the stretcher to be carried out to the ambulance. Ridiculous old buildings with tiny elevators that don’t fit gurneys.

He crashes once on the way to the hospital and once more in the trauma room. He is conscious only sporadically. The doctors say he’s in shock. 

A red haired girl bursts in later, with two blondes right on her tail, demanding to see him. They are told he’s in surgery. The bullet punctured partially trough his shoulder blade but not all the way, and they need to remove it and sew him back together. 

He’s taken to ICU for the first 24 hours, so they can monitor him, then he is transferred to a private room and let him wake up naturally. The eldest woman doesn’t leave his side, and the girls alternate, bringing food or coffee or clean clothes.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t speak. He responds for all medical purposes but aside from that, he refuses. The woman holds his hand and at one point during the second night, when he wakes up from a doze screaming and sobbing, she strokes his hair and sings old rock songs to sooth him.

 

Dean gets to go home about a week later. Ellen drops him off and offers to come up stairs with him, but he declines. He says she needs to go home and rest as well. She is reluctant to go, but he insists.

He gets in and just stands there, staring, for about ten minutes. He hasn’t been here in weeks. Not since… well, not since the worst job in history started tearing his life apart.

He kicks off his shoes, running shoes he’s had for years but barely worn, which Charlie grabbed for him when she came to get him things to wear home. He doesn't know how she knew which hospital he was taken to so quickly, but he stopped questioning anything that girl knows a long time ago. His arm is still in a sling to keep him from straining the muscles while they try to heal, so the plaid shirt only sits properly on one arm, and is just draped over his other shoulder.

He flops on his bed, grunting in pain where his injuries are jostled. Shit this sucks. He tries to roll over but his arm, unwieldy and sore as it is, refuses to do anything but hinder him movements.

Ugh. Fuck this. He’s just going to stay like this forever and not move.

And of course, that is when his phone rings. He stupidly doesn’t check the caller ID before answering. 

“Dean thank god! Are you okay? Of course you aren’t, sorry, but how are how feeling now? Are you home from the hospital yet? Shit Dean, I’ve—”

“Whoa whoa whoa Sammy, slow down a bit. I’m still on the happy drugs. God. Yes I’m fine, I literally just got home.”

“Fine as in healthy or fine as in coping and supressing like all good Winchesters do?”

“Holy fuck Sam can we not do this now? Like really? Now?”

“I don’t mean… not like that, man. I do it too, don’t worry. But I’ll assume that means you are doing the suppress and deal thing.”

Dean snorts. “Whatever man.”

“There's been so much on the news... I've been trying to contact you for days, Dean, why haven’t you picked up?”

“Didn’t have access to it. Cops took it.”

“Oh. Oh shit. Right. Evidence. God, it sounds terrible Dean.”

“Believe me, it feels worse.”

“Do you need me to come down? Cos I will, Dean. Just say the word, I’m there.”

“God Sammy, no, I’m fine, like I said. Don’t come down, you’ve got school and shit.”

“Thanksgiving, Dean. It’s Thanksgiving on Thursday.”

Well shit, he really has completely lost track of time. “Man…” Ugh. Dean does not want to have to deal with this shit right now. “Look, Sammy, I wasn’t kidding when I said I just got in. I really need to shower all the hospital-feel off me. Can you call back tomorrow or something?”

“Yeah Dean, of course,” he replies softly. Understanding, he thinks.

“Thanks. Later.”

“Bye Dean.”

It takes Dean another fifteen minutes to summon the energy to get himself out of bed, and when he does finally get settled in the shower, after washing himself as well as he could, he just sits on the floor under the water and let's the water hide his tears.

 

The next morning there’s a knock on the front door. Still just in his boxers, Dean, still stupidly, answers it. Holy shit, Sam is waiting expectantly on the other side with a duffel bag.

“Sammy?”

“Hey Dean. I know you said not to come, but man, you’re my brother. I can’t just ignore you when you’re hurting. You never let me go it alone, so I won’t let you either.”

Dean stands in stunned silence for until Sam's face starts to fall, then he throws his arms around Sam’s shoulders, bullet wound be damned. Sam wraps him up tight in a bear hug and it feels safe. For the first time in weeks, Dean feels safe. His brother is here. His brother is here because he cares enough to put all their bullshit behind him. Because he cares about Dean.

“Oh god,” he chokes out.

“It’s alright Dean, I got you. I’m here.”

Gently, Sam guides him inside and plops him on the couch, still shaking, while he fixes some coffee. It’s still before 9am after all.

When Dean finally regains control of his voice again, he turns to Sam, asking, “The fuck you doing here man? I mean, now. It’s not even 9, what, did you leave at 3 am or some shit?”

Sam brings two mugs of coffee over and settles next to Dean. “Yeah, just about. I couldn’t sleep. Kept waking Jess up cos I couldn’t stay still. Eventually she pushed me out of bed and told me to get my ass down here and let her sleep.” Dean chuckles. He can totally see that happening, Jess always the wise and practical one.

 

Dean is reticent, over the next few days. He doesn’t want to talk much, so he doesn’t. He can feel Sam getting frustrated, but he just… He can’t. Not yet.

He’s not sleeping much either, and Sam notices. He only says something after he finds Dean slumped over the table with an empty bottle of whiskey at 5:30 am before the nerd goes for his morning run. 

He just sits and waits. It’s been days since he arrived and Sam has the patience of a damn saint. Dean makes him wait though. Just because he knows he’s going to talk eventually doesn’t mean he’ll make it easy.

It’s only when Sam gets up to make some coffee an hour later that Dean starts talking. It’s easier when Sam isn’t looking at him, like he’s some hurt puppy that needs coddling.

Sure, he needs coddling to make sure he eats and takes his medication and stays in some vague resemblance of cleanliness. But that doesn’t meant he wants to be treated that way so obviously.

“I trusted him.”

Sam approaches with the mugs slowly, not wanting to interrupt now Dean’s started. 

“I trusted him, Sammy. My whole life I’ve been told not to trust anyone but family, but I did for him. And look what happened…”

Sam sits quietly, sipping his coffee, respecting Dean’s need for silence and time. Eventually, with a few strategic questions, Sam unravels a lot of what happened. Things about Cas and the job and what happened between them. More than Charlie or Jo managed to coax out of him in the whole time he was stuck with them in the hospital.

 

Two days later is Thanksgiving at Bobby’s with the Harvelles and surprisingly, Charlie. Ellen and Jo are thrilled to see him again, looking marginally healthier than the last time. Ellen scolds Sam harshly for not visiting more, then pulls him in for a crushing hug. Jo smacks him upside the head, then hugs him as well.

Charlie gets introduced to Sam and Bobby. Over the night, Dean notices _things_ , and starts to suspect something is going on between her and Jo. He gives them both a questioning eye but they both just flip him off. Which really is explanation in itself.

The day is… nice… Oddly. He finds he does have things to be thankful for after all. Sam is talking to him, Ellen is healthy again, and Jo and Charlie and Bobby are good too. His family is okay and that’s all that really matters.

After dinner, a news report comes on about Cas. They only get through the warnings and what he’s wanted for before Sam manages to change the channel. Charlie is sitting by his feet at this point, resting against the couch, and he feels her shift uncomfortably. It’s just then that he remembers how she must be feeling too, betrayed and lied to by a friend. He reaches down and squeezes her shoulder and she leans against his leg, taking the offered comfort of someone who understands.

The rest of the night, Dean feels Sam’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his skull but he resolutely ignores it. He pretends it didn’t bother him, even as all the horrible words cycle round and round in his head. Murder. Kidnapping. Torture. Burglary. Destruction of property. Larceny. Assault.

 

He’s woken up in the middle of the night that night by his own screaming. Ellen is wiping his face with a damp cloth while Bobby hovers awkwardly nearby. The others, he can see standing in the doorway, yawning with exhaustion but worried at the same time.

After he brushes them all off and they leave, he pulls the blanket over his head, hoping it muffles his gasping, painful sobs. He doesn’t sleep again that night.

 

On Sunday, Sam has to leave to go back to school. Of course Dean is sad to see the stupid moose go, but Sam himself seems reluctant too.

"I'll be fine. I'll see you soon, Sammy. Sooner, this time. You go learn shit."

Sam huffs and looks at his feet. "Yeah. Next time, I'll bring Jess with me."

"Sounds good."


	7. Chapter 7

It’s late, Dean just got home from a late-night dash to the store for liquorice and pie, and he’s lying in bed about to restart the episode of Doctor Sexy he was in the middle of. He’s just yanked the covers up when there’s a knock on the door. His first thought is ‘fuck you whoever you are for knocking _now_ ’ and then it fades into ‘wait who the fuck is knocking on the door at 11pm?’ Grumbling, he shoves the covers back and plods back out to the door, but not before stuffing his gun into the pocket of his dressing gown. This late, there’s not much that could be good waiting outside. 

He looks through the peep hole but the hallway is too dim and there’s a figure there but it’s difficult to discern. Slowly he opens the door and peers out. The light from inside his apartment spills out around him, enough to cast a patch onto the grotty floor. The figure steps out of the shadows into the light and oh. That’s why they seemed vaguely familiar.

His gun is pointed straight at the man’s head before he has a chance to take a breath. “What the fuck are you doing here, Novak?” Castiel hesitates. “Talk fast or I swear to god, my bullet will be more accurate than yours.”

Cas holds up his hands defensively. “Okay. Okay Dean. Please just. I am going to explain everything, I swear.”

Dean clicks off the safety.

“I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I swear Dean. Please believe me.”

He scoffs. After everything that happened, how does Cas think he would ever believe that? It’s all just a ploy to get back in Dean’s good books or something. So he can use him again, destroy him again. Fuck that. He won’t let him.

“Like hell,” he spits. Dean tightens his grip on the gun, steadies it, and says, “Last chance.” The tension across his shoulders holds him like steel, but he can feel it pulling on his wound, making it ache. He should really be wearing the sling still. But he’s not going to hold it as it should be. He can’t afford to show that sort of weakness.

Cas drops his hands fractionally, his voice small. “I need your help.”

And for a moment, Dean wavers, caught off balance by the change. He regains his composure in a few seconds, or at least the illusion of it that he’s been portraying since he first saw Cas’ face again. “My help? _My_ help? Why the fuck would I _ever_ help you?”

Cas glances around nervously. “Can we… can we not do this outside, someone could see us…”

Dean raises one eyebrow incredulously as a reply.

“Alright.” Cas swallows. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this… un-put-together. Except after that nightmare… It’s disconcerting. “Okay. I told you… I said, on that video, ‘look how the Angel has fallen’. Everyone else of course assumes I meant you. But… but you told me, you said they had it wrong, that I was the Angel and you were the Hunter, really. I was talking to you then, Dean. I was talking about myself, trying to tell you that I didn’t mean any of those… awful things I did…” He shudders. It could be fake. “…That none of what I was saying then was real. Please Dean! Please, you have to believe me,” he pleads. “I know you don’t trust me right now. I know that.” Dean snorts. Way to state the obvious. “But I do trust you. I need your help now. You have to help me.” God and there’s even tears in his eyes.

“I ain’t gotta do shit for you Novak,” Dean spits. The guy’s good, Dean’ll give him that. Damn good…

Cas steps closer again, eyes wide and full of… something. A lot of things. Emotions. Nothing like the dead eyes he had in the bathroom, or on that first video. “You’re good at reading people,” he continues desperately. “If you can’t trust me, if you, understandably, can’t trust your judgement of me, talk to Gabe. You’ve known him longer. Ask him anything, he’ll tell you. We are running out of time now though. Someone tipped off the police, they’re already on their way. I managed to outrun them temporarily but they will be here very soon.”

“Why did you come here then?” Dean frowns, his rigid stance faltering just slightly, aim wavering.

“I was already coming here to try to explain everything to you. I don’t know this area, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Right… Sure. Well, whether or not you’re spouting complete bullshit, you do realise that they’re going to tear this place apart looking for you, even more so because they know what you did to me and will be freaked about it happening again.”

“Please…” Cas’ voice cracks and it… god it shouldn’t but it hurts. Pains Dean to his core. And he glares a little harder, angry that Cas is making him feel this way. That he’s still able to. He hates Cas. Hates him with every atom of his being. But if – and it’s a tiny _if_ that the fucked up, hopeful part of his brain is clinging on to – Cas is telling the truth, Dean still… he still cares about him a whole damn lot.

That’s when he hears the sirens approaching, approaching but not moving past.

They’re here.

Cas could have tipped them off himself, to give him a reason to beg for sanctuary in Dean’s home, to gain access. It could all be planned. The little voice in his head shouts, _it might not be, though_.

“Dammit,” he mumbles, making a split second decision. Dean glares some more before releasing the safety and lowering the gun before pulling the door ajar enough for Cas to slip though, then slams it shut. “You didn’t touch anything on the way up did you?” Cas waves his mittened hands. Dean nods in acknowledgement. At least the cops won’t have other evidence that he was here. 

Cas freezes once they’re further into the apartment. “I’m so sorry Dean,” he whispers.

For a moment of paralysing fear, Dean thinks he’s made a horrible mistake. Cas is going to hurt him again. But he follows the other man’s line of sight to the makeshift chemist set up on his bench and the bottle of whiskey he’s not supposed to have.

Dean huffs. “Yeah, you mentioned that. Come on, they’ll be up here in a minute.” He leads Cas over to the cupboard and pushes the shelf over to reveal the little cubbyhole hidden behind. It’s dark in there but he can’t risk having the light on in case it seeps out and they find it. “Go on. I promise there’s no bugs in there.” For the first time that night, the heavy sadness lifts from Cas’ face as a small smile turns up the side of his mouth.

It drops swiftly though, as he starts talking again. “I never lied to you until that day, Dean. I promise. I… I love storms and those burgers. I’d never had pie before. My family… The only time I did was when I said I hated you. I…”

“Cas…” Dean looks away. There’s so much hope in Cas’ face. He’s trying to keep hating him, he really is. But it’s getting more and more difficult with every look Cas gives him, every word he says. Less and less logical. Surely it would have been impossible to plan such an elaborate deception, to play it out for so long. Surely no one is that good of an actor, of an improviser. Dean is jumping for the tail of a kite that has already slipped through his fingers. He wants so desperately for Cas to be telling the truth now he can barely breathe. He just wants to be wrong this once. “You gotta go man, they’re gonna be here any second,” Dean urges, voice rough as his internal conflict tilts, steadfast hatred crumbling.

Cas nods, still hesitating. He turns away and moves towards the nook, but stops before going through. And then out of nowhere he’s stepping back towards Dean. He barely has time to register the move, no time at all to try to get into a defensive position and then—

Oh.

Cas’ lips are on his, soft and slow, hands gently cradling his face, belying the urgency of the situation. Before he can even consider reciprocating, Cas has pulled back and Dean can’t deny that he chased the contact just a little.

Cas looks like he wants to say something but they really are out of time and Dean has had enough of all this backwards and forwards staring and emotions. He doesn’t let Cas talk more, but physically pushes him into the cupboard and slides the shelf back.

Now that he’s alone again, he slumps on the bed and tries, only partially successfully, to breathe. Cas kissed him and he didn’t even mind. The man who hurt him the most, who cut deeper than Alistair’s blades ever could. He willingly let Castiel Novak hide in his apartment from the police, and kiss him.

But he knows. While he is still confused as hell about the entire thing, he believes Cas. He shouldn’t. It’s dangerous and goes against every instinct he has. Every instinct except the one in his heart that John told him was his greatest weakness, that Sam barely believed he had until the last week, that Gabe told him to supress for his own damn safety. The one that still trusts Cas. The one that still loves him.

He hasn’t forgiven him yet, he knows that. And maybe he won’t. But he knows he’ll move past it some time. Knows he doesn’t want to let Cas go again. It has to be the most idiotic thing he has ever done, but he’s never been one for smart ideas when faced with emotions.

With all the adrenaline draining out of him, the ache returns to his shoulder, sharper than it’s been in days. He hopes he didn’t bust any stitches. He shrugs off the dressing gown to see if any blood is seeping through the dressing. Thankfully it’s still pristine white.

Dean hugs his arm to his chest, not bothering to find the sling because that will just look suspicious to the cops.

There’s a knock on his door for the second time that night. Heavy and loud.

“Mr Winchester?” someone shouts. “Dean Winchester, are you in there? Open the door. It’s the police.”

He staggers up, startled and pads to the door. He only opens it a fraction before three armed officers are pushing their way in, scouting around the tiny apartment. His eyes follow them and he hopes he manages to keep the fear from his eyes when they slide the wardrobe doors open. But he built the hideaway well. They don’t notice it and don’t investigate that area any further.

Dean turns back to the door, arm throbbing painfully from the force of the door. Detective Turner and Agent Henrikson have stepped in as well, though their focus is solely on Dean.

“Sorry for the disturbance, Mr Winchester. We got a tip earlier this evening that Castiel Novak was heading this way. Knowing your residence was here, we assumed he was coming after you. Maybe to…” Henrikson breaks off. They all know what he means. Dean lets his eyes widen in surprise and turns away, faking distressed breathing.

“Sorry to alarm you, Dean.” That’s Rufus. “You need to know and we need to make sure he isn’t hiding around anywhere waiting until we leave to pounce. Have you seen anything that might indicate his presence in or around the building? Has he tried to contact you?”

Dean snorts then. “With all due respect, sir, if Novak had gotten into my apartment, you would be standing on his corpse right about now.”

Henrikson grimaces and Turner rolls his eyes. “Alright, Dean. Did you see anything?”

He sticks out his lip and shakes his head. “Sorry guys. I grabbed some snacks from the store on the corner about a half hour ago, but I didn’t seen anything. Otherwise I’ve been in here all night.”

Henrikson nods and says, “We’ll need you to come downstairs while we check the rest of the building, for your own safety.”

Dean purses his lips. “Fine. Just let me…” He grabs a flannel off the back of the couch and struggles to pull it on, first fitting it over his injured arm, then over the healthy one. Then it’s a matter of adjusting it one-handed so it actually sits properly. Thankfully, Turner calls the other three, who had just been standing around looking threatening having done searching and coming up empty, into the hall to keep checking, and Henrikson turned around as well to give Dean some privacy in his embarrassment at being so debilitated. He grits his teeth when it pulls wrong, but eventually he gets the shirt on.

He grabs his keys and phone off the shelf and follows the agent outside.

It’s just a whole lot of waiting around the police cars for the next hour, listening to idle radio chatter. At one point someone says that the identification of the tipper has been verified as Nick Morningstar by the US Military. The name bugs Dean but it doesn’t click until he’s walking back up the stenchy stairs to his apartment.

Morningstar.

Lucifer.

If it is, the guy could really use some imagination lessons.

He stops. He can use this to put those last niggling doubts about Cas to rest by calling Gabe. And it gives him an element of surprise. If Cas knows Gabe, they could have planned something.

After a minute of fiddling, he has a video call connecting. He hopes to god the man is at least slightly dressed.

 

Gabe told him never to trust anyone, including Gabe himself. Dean won’t trust his words now, but Gabe is a shit actor. Good – no, brilliant – trickster, but there is a good reason his character got cut from his own show before the first season finished. Dean knows he can trust his reactions.

Surprisingly, when the call finally goes through, Gabe is up and dressed and actually looking rather ragged.

“Dean. Oh god, did something happen? Castiel said you’d call to ask for a character reference or something but I didn’t think it would be this early…”

Dean doesn’t answer. Instead he dives straight into the questions. “Who tipped off the cops?”

Gabe frowns. “What?”

“Who tipped them off? Do you know?”

Gabe looks totally baffled, how brow scrunched up and mouth downturned severely. “No, why?” Okay. Most likely not lying here.

“Does the name Nick Morningstar mean anything to you?”

Gabe drops his phone. Literally, onto the floor with a thud, drops it. As he scrambles to pick it up again, Dean hears him swallow loudly, and when it focuses once more, his mouth is parted in a little ‘o’. Is that fear? Holy shit, that is fear.

“He’s Cas’ brother, isn’t he? He’s Lucifer, he’s the one who… who hurt Cas…” Dean trails off. Gabe no longer making eye contact is enough answer for him. Enough confirmation.

Eventually, Gabe regains control of his voice. “I think you’ve got your character reference right there, Deano. There’s no way in hell Cassie would ever, _ever_ use Luke for his own gain, even if it cemented his story. No way. You seem to know what happened. Cas wouldn’t even tell his psychologist when he got home. You _know_ he wouldn’t use Lucifer like that. He trusts you, Dean. He trusts you with his life, with the darkest parts of himself. He gave you enough to destroy him. Make sure you don’t.”

Dean stands in stunned silence. He doesn’t think he has ever seen Gabe that serious, that fervent about something. Gabe doesn’t do serious, yet he is for this. It means something. It is important. 

“You got that Dean?”

He gasps, jolted from his train of thought. “Yeah. Yeah I got it, Gabe. Thanks.” He hangs up.

 

When Dean re-enters his place, he takes a moment to wait for the last flashing lights to disappear, and to compose himself after that revelation.

He gingerly pulls off the plaid shirt, throwing it back onto the lounge, and then opens the cupboard to knock on the wall. “You can come out now, Cas.

There’s a click of the locking mechanism releasing and the shelf is scraping on the carpet and then Cas almost falls out of the space. Dean manages to catch his arm and help him up.

“I believe you,” Dean blurts out before they’re even stable.

“What?”

Dean’s hand unconsciously finds its way to the back of his neck. “I uh… talked to Gabe. I believe you didn’t mean it, and… and with the tipper being Lucifer and all that, I—”

And Cas is backing away suddenly, hitting the cupboard door had and with such a look on his face like he wants to crawl back into the hideaway and never come out. Ah shit. Probably not the best idea to bring up Luke right now…

“Are you sure?” he asks in a small voice.

Dean nods and Cas’ eyes close. “He knows. He knows where I am. He could find me. He can find me… he—” That’s when he starts to hyperventilate.

“Whoa Cas. Just breathe. Breathe with me real slow. Can you do that? Cas?” But Cas doesn’t respond.

Dean hold his hands out like he’s trying to tame a wild animal. “Okay Cas, it’s okay. He ain’t here. It’s just me. Just Dean. I’m gonna come closer now, alright.” He takes a tentative step, and then another, and he’s closer enough that if he just leans, they’d be touching. There isn’t much space between the wardrobe and the bed, after all.

“Cas?” he tries again. Still nothing but too-fast breathing as a response.

Hoping to any deity that might be listening that this doesn’t make things worse, Dean raises a hand to Cas’ shoulder. The moment he touches him, Cas crumbles into him, clinging to Dean’s neck, face buried in his collarbone.

Dean threads his arms around Cas’ waist and holds him close. Tight enough for comfort and loose enough that he knows he can escape easily is he has to. “Alright, just breathe with me, Cas.” Dean takes a deep breath in and then out. He repeats it over and over, murmuring words of encouragement as Cas starts to do the same. “There we go.” Dean rubs between Cas’ shoulder blades and eases back a little. Cas still clings to him and he lets himself be pulled back in. “I got you, buddy.”

A while later, Cas relaxes and lets his arms drop from their chokehold to rest at Dean’s waist. 

Both their voices are quiet in the early morning darkness. “I’m sorry Dean.”

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Cas shrugs and neither of them want to continue that conversation.

“So… you believe me, then?” Cas asks.

Dean makes eye contact with Cas to enforce his point. “Yeah. Yeah I do. You owe me one hell of an explanation, but I do.” Cas nods and lets his head fall back to Dean’s uninjured shoulder. “Oh and one more thing. I lied to you as well, before.” Cas pulls back abruptly, frowning. “When I said I hate you, I didn’t mean it either.” Cas huffs, a tired breathy sound and relaxes back into Dean’s embrace.

Yeah, Dean doesn’t hate him at all.

**Author's Note:**

> there it is :) i hope everyone enjoyed it and yes, there will be a second part. fear not. i wont be leaving them here :)
> 
> im also over on tumblr [here](http://www.ismylifejustfantasy.tumblr.com)
> 
> tell me what you think, what you liked, everything :) comments and kudos give me the confidence and motivation to keep writing :)


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